To Find the Southern Land
by RaraLion
Summary: Set after the events of season 5, Dean is becoming restless in his new life. He knows he wasn't born to lead a normal life, but Sam made him promise he wouldn't continue hunting. Then, Castiel appears with news that sends Dean hunting in Australia.
1. A Message from an Angel

A graveyard.

Sam Winchester and his half-brother Adam where facing off, the tense air filled with the sound of crows beating their rancid black wings.

A black '67 Chevy Impala rolling in across the gravel, the two possessed men watching with cool gazes.

Suddenly, the earth beneath the two brothers opens up, a gaping maw swallowing them both whole. Sam and Adam disappear below the surface, falling rapidly into the heart of Hell itself.

The ground closes, leaving no trace of the two warring entities.

Dean awoke from his bed to the sound of soft sobbing. It took him a few moments to realise it was he who was sobbing. He reached an arm out and pulled the sheets closer, his eyes stinging mercilessly from hot tears. Next to him, Lisa's warm body was turned to his, her mouth slightly ajar and her eyelids twitching in some unknowable dream. Dean lay next to her a few more minutes, staring at the pale ceiling, before mouthing a curse and rolling out of bed. He knew he would not sleep any more that night, and would spend the rest of the hours before sunrise fiddling with his car and his motorcycle. Dean had become bored with absorbing himself in the television every night, so had begun building his own motorcycle from scratch.

Dean slowly and stealthily padded through his house, taking a moment to look in on Ben, and followed a wall with an outstretched hand to avoid walking into any furniture. He was glad the garage was attached to the house, as it meant he wouldn't be leaving his family alone. All of his years as a hunter had left him with acute paranoia, although justified, and he never felt comfortable leaving Lisa and Ben alone in the middle of the night without him. The interior of the house was expansive and had two shallow hallways leading to various rooms at different sides of the house, both sufficiently lit during day and night. The master bedroom was at the end of the east hallway, which also joined to Ben's room, and connected to a well-furnished lounge room. The lounge room led to the dining room and kitchen, where granite benches surrounded a cosy collection of cupboards and appliances. Branching off on the north wall of the lounge was the laundry and bathrooms. Dean anxiously inspected every corner of his house, as he always did after a nightmare, and made his way to the garage. The door to the garage was located at the other end of the house, branching off from the dining room. As he gripped the door knob and opened the door, Dean heard the sliding of the wood across the tiled floor and the faintest squeak from the hinges. He grappled for the light switch and flicked on the three large fluorescent lights above his head. His garage was incredibly cluttered, but he was still able to move about without too much difficulty. He gently closed the door behind him and admired his half-built black-and-chrome '96 Harley Davidson Fat-boy standing proudly next to his meticulously cared for Impala. The bike's frame was pretty much in place, as was the motor and fuel tank, but the guards he had scavenged from a scrap yard still needed reshaping and painting. Dean settled on the concrete floor with a rag and one of the guards and began cleaning. He knew his motorcycle was merely a distraction and gave him purpose on the lonely nights, but he could feel they were too superficial. The truth was he was unsettled, fidgety and frustrated. As one of the bastard angels Zachariah had once said, he was born to hunt, and not to live out an ordinary, apple pie life. As Dean admired the Impala, he could almost imagine the car's impatience at being stuck in a garage, unable to go out more than twice a day, and only for trips to the pub or a supermarket or soccer practice. Her sleek body needed to be roaring along a straight road for eight hours at a time, heading to some far away destination, carrying her two passengers to some danger they would face together and ultimately succeed. Dean blinked away the traces of fresh tears in his eyes and focussed upon the curved metal in his hand.

Dean worked until the sun rose above the tree line, bringing with it warmth and soft birdsong. He put the guard, which looked clear of dirt and rust, on the ground and turned off the lights in the garage. He wearily opened the garage door and was greeted by the sight of Lisa setting the table for breakfast and Ben running around looking for a school book. Dean smelt the burnt toast and fresh orange juice on the kitchen bench, as well as the fresh scent of the new day. Lisa looked up from where she was buttering the toast at the bench and smiled kindly at Dean.

"Another nightmare?"

"Yeah. Same thing as usual", Dean replied, his voice flat and his eyes glazed. Lisa could see the way Dean had lost a lot of his strength and appetite after the confrontation at the graveyard, and that had been two years ago. He had lost a little of his muscle definition because he wouldn't eat a lot, but he still continued with basic training each day while Lisa went to work. Ben raced into the kitchen and snatched the toast his mother had just finished smearing with peanut butter. He tried to fit a whole slice into his mouth, but only managed two thirds. Dean smiled and watched the kid run back to his room to change from his pyjamas, and walked up beside Lisa. He hugged her shoulders, and Lisa sighed.

"And there is nothing you can do? I really worry about you," she said, momentarily forgetting about the sandwich she had started making. Dean shrugged slightly, let her go and walked to the fridge. She watched him finish off half a carton of milk before continuing with her sandwich.

"Don't worry about a thing. Besides, I'm going to old Andrew's shop to apply for the job today. If he doesn't accept me, I'll just have to work out of the garage," he said half jokingly.

"Yes, because we need more rev-heads hanging around here than there usually is," replied Lisa, her gaze resting on her son. Ben was almost ready for school, the only problem was he was calling out desperately for his jacket, somehow hoping it would reply and let him know where it was.

"Mom, have you seen my jacket?" he yelled from the lounge room.

"The ACDC one?"

"No, the Metallica one!"

Dean spotted the jacket thrown carelessly on the floor near where the front foyer connected to the dining room. He picked it up and threw it at Ben as he pelted through the house.

"Come on dude, hurry up or you'll be late. Would hate to miss half of math class."

"Dude! That would be awesome!" Ben crowed before racing past Dean into the garage. He followed the thin path through the debris with ease, which came of practice, and stood next to the Impala. He looked back at Dean with a pleading look in his eyes, and Dean rolled his eyes. He pulled on his jacket from the foyer hook and took his keys from his pocket. He turned to Lisa and gave her a kiss.

"Don't encourage him," she warned playfully, then added more seriously, "And be careful." Dean promised he would and went after Ben. The two of them lifted the garage door and jumped into the Impala.

After dropping Ben off at school, Dean began driving through the busy streets of San Francisco. They had moved there after a demon intrusion in their old home, and as such the house was built from iron, layered with salt, demon traps and everything possible to stop unwanted guests entering their home. As he scaled the steep hills on the way to Andrew's garage, he wondered what Bobby was doing and if taking this job was his way of getting closer to his old life. He began to get absorbed into the flow of traffic, concentrating only upon the vehicles and pedestrians, and not upon thoughts of the past. He was a few blocks from the garage when a calm but commanding voice spoke to him.

"Dean, stop the car."

"Jesus! Cas!" Dean swore in surprise, jumping out of his skin and nearly driving headlong into oncoming traffic. His heart was still racing after he had pulled up at the curb and turned to look at the angel.

"You think you could give me a bit of warning? You know, walk up to the side of the road and flag me down? Stick out your thumb?" Dean suggested sarcastically, calming down. Castiel still looked the same as Dean had last seen him; Overcoat, grouchy expression, funny tie.

"If I had 'stuck out my thumb', you would keep driving." Dean had to agree. Cas was obviously there to ask for help, and Dean had had enough of sacrificing himself for God's angels, even if it was Cas. But something inside Dean was curious to know what Cas wanted and even to jump straight into action again.

"Why are you here? What do you want?"

"I want you to find Jesse Turner."

"Jesse?" Dean asked, confused for a moment. Then he remembered. Jesse was supposedly the Anti-Christ, and demon spawn. He had unimaginable power and disappeared mysteriously after learning about his real identity. Dean had forgotten about him. "Why do you want him?"

Castiel looked blandly at Dean and replied, "Because I need to know where he is and what his intentions are. If we don't act fast, he could be on our doorstep within days."

Dean frowned and searched for any hidden meaning in the angel's eyes, but as usual, Cas was as emotionless as ever.

"Why, you think he's gone dark-side?"

"It's not his morals that are in question, but his will power. He may be under the control of someone else."

"Who?"

Cas paused for a moment and observed a woman and two children weaving between traffic to cross the road. Dean had no idea what to expect, and he was certainly unprepared for what came out of Cas' mouth.

"Lucifer."

Dean felt many emotions well up from the deepest pit of his heart, but the defined emotions were anger and disbelief.

"How could you say that? You don't remember Sam throwing himself and Adam into the Pit? You don't remember how he sacrificed himself for the rest of humanity and your loyal angel pals?" Dean's fury would've made any man shrink in terror. His face was flushed and screwed up into a ferocious snarl and his eyes flashed dangerously. Cas didn't seem too fazed by Dean's reaction; he even seemed to have expected it. He was, after all, an archangel.

"I say that because Sam has been sighted."

Dean stopped and just stared at Cas. He knew the angel wouldn't joke about this, but it was impossible to believe. They couldn't have failed; otherwise the world would be overrun with Croatoan virus and the apocalypse would've continued.

"Who saw him? Where? Tell me, God dammit, Cas!" The questions just came barging out, and Dean found he had trouble containing his impatience. Cas sighed and looked carefully at Dean.

"I have many contacts. All we know is he has been spotted in Los Angeles, perhaps headed to an airport."

Dean was already halfway through figuring out routes, motels and fuel, when he stopped. He had a family now. He had a house, a half-built motorcycle, and, hell, he was even going for a job. His insides were tied up in knots at the pain of Sam's loss coupled with his feeling of lost identity and restlessness. Dean stared out the window at all the people walking past, living their normal lives, oblivious to all the secret wars and terrible creatures lurking right under their noses. For Dean it was far too late to go back now.

"Cas..." he began, but turned to see nothing but the empty passenger seat of his car. Dean struggled about his decision for a few more minutes before pulling out into the traffic and making his way home.

Chapter 2

Dean arrived back home at around 11:45. Everyone was still out, so he had the place to himself. He unlocked the garage door and parked the Impala. Although he was still tired from getting little to no sleep the past two years, he didn't go to sleep. Instead, Dean picked up a rag and finished off the guards for the bike. After closing the door behind him, he removed the fuel tank from the bike and set it and the guards on an old sheet, then went to a small cupboard deep in a corner surrounded with larger shelves containing random tools and equipment. He opened the creaking doors and took out a few small cans of black paint. The motorcycle was sprayed black already, but it needed touching up before the bike was ready to be run for the first time in years, despite the lack of mufflers and a seat.

Dean sat for a couple of hours, allowing the steady work of painting and clear-coating the motorcycle parts to order his thoughts. He felt that it could be Sam out there, continuing the job he was born to do, working to set the record straight for starting the Apocalypse. However, the Sam running around outside the box could contain Lucifer. But how could they have gotten out? The cage was specially designed and even Death himself had said it would seal the mislead angel away for good. If the powerful, evil angel couldn't get out, how could a human who was starving for demon blood? Bobby said Sam had changed from his demon addicted self, but Dean still felt the sting of betrayal from all those months ago when Sam chose a demon over his older brother. Dean had tried to trust his little brother again, but his paranoia warned him not to trust anyone, even Sam. Dean shook his head to clear the dark thoughts of the past and wondered what he would do. Would he drop his new family to search for a brother who wouldn't even let his family know if he was alive? Besides, if Sam was headed to an airport, he could be anywhere by now. Dean was jolted from his thoughts by a knock on the door of the garage. Suddenly, Cas appeared on the other side of the door, his face grave. Dean jumped a little, then realised Cas always looked grave, but he couldn't help but think there was something more in Cas' eyes.

"Sam was definitely at the airport."

Dean got to his feet and frowned.

"Thanks for knocking, but what do you want me to do about it?"

Cas turned his head a little so he looked at Dean out of the corner of his left eye. Dean definitely saw a twitch in the corner of Cas' mouth. He was slightly amused.

"He's your brother. I thought you might've wanted to find him."

"So what, you think I'm okay with him just showing up and not telling me he's alive, not mention in the same side of the country? That I'm going to drop everything I've worked for in the last two years?"

Cas suddenly stepped closer and stared hard into Dean's eyes.

"You know as well as I do, you are restless with this life. You know you were born for hunting, you just don't want to admit it. You think you can just deny everything?" Cas asked with a firm voice that surprised Dean, and added after a small pause, "Even if it means leaving all of this behind."

Dean stared at Cas, open mouthed. He was shocked Cas could read him so easily and that he knew the angel was right. He knew he wouldn't be right until he began hunting monsters, as it was his only redemption for his actions in Hell. And he had to find his brother. After all the years he had to watch out for him, even though he knew Sam was old enough to look after himself, Dean still had to do all he could to keep his little brother from harm. He looked at Cas with not determination, but acceptance and, even a little, defeat.

"The International Airport?" Dean asked wearily.

"Yes. We can't find him because of the sigils on his ribs, and we aren't sure where he is going, but I'm sure you can find out."

Dean thought about this for a second and stared to his side at the drying bike parts on the floor. He might be able to get over there on one of his fake ID's but it would be difficult to transport the Impala. He looked up at Cas, but he was already gone.

"God, Cas. What am I going to tell Lisa and Ben?" Dean wondered aloud. He stared a moment longer at the spot Cas had stood, then turned and entered the house.

Dean hung up the phone and stretched. He lifted the notepad he was scribbling on and scanned his notes one final time. They were the flight details for a 'Richie Sambora', which was quite a conspicuous name compared to the other passengers. Richie Sambora is the lead guitarist in the rock band Bon Jovi. Dean had to make sure it was his brother, so he called the airport and connected to various staff asking for appearance details and the like. Sure enough, 'Richie Sambora' was ridiculously tall, well built, muscular and had a 'handsome face', or so said one of the receptionists. And the thing that surprised Dean the most was his flight was out of the country, to Australia. Dean had booked a flight to the same location, which was Melbourne, but via connecting flight from Singapore. Dean pushed his chair from his desk and headed for the kitchen. On the fridge was a note that read:

_Going to the dentist with Ben. Be back late. - Lisa_

Dean looked at the time: nearly three o'clock. He walked through the house to get to his bedroom. Connecting to the left wall was a large walk in wardrobe, bathroom and small set of steps leading down into a cellar. Dean flicked on the light and descended. The room smelt very dusty, it echoed and the light attached above the stair mouth was faint. In the small stone room, several locked trunks were stacked up against a wall. Cabinets with large padlocks hung from another wall, and various sacks and boxes frequented the corners. Dean took out two large duffel bags, but stopped. If he was flying, it would be nearly impossible to sneak weapons through security. Dean looked forlornly at the cabinets which contained many different firearms, the trunks containing blades and ammunition, the sacks of salt and the boxes of random miscellaneous items. Dean grunted and pouted, then trudged back up stairs. This meant he had to find contacts in Australia, buy weapons, ammunition and other hunter items. This was going to be difficult. Dean flicked off the light and walked back into the kitchen where his desk was propped against the back wall. He picked up his notepad again and sat back down. He picked up the phone and called Bobby.

"Hello?"

"Bobby, it's me."

"Dean! It's been a while!"

"Yeah. Booby, I need your help. Sam's back."

There was a silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then, there was a shaky breath.

"How? Is it for good?" Bobby asked, before growling, "You didn't-"

"No! I don't know how, but I know where he's going. I need to find him."

"...What do you need, boy?"

"All your hunter contacts in Australia."

"Australia? Why is he going there, I wonder?... Gimme a sec..."

Dean heard a great deal of rustling and a silence. His mind was racing, hoping there were enough hunters over there, otherwise he would be alone. He heard a series of thumps, then a rustle of the phone being picked up. Bobby was panting slightly.

"You're in luck. I know enough hunters that I can count them on two hands. Most are along the east coast. Got a pen?"

Dean nodded, and tapped a pencil at the phone. Bobby heard this and began giving the names and contact details about eight hunters.

Dean said his goodbyes to Bobby, promising to keep in contact and call before he left. Dean noticed it was almost time for Lisa and Ben to get home, so he hurried around the house packing all of his clothes and effects in his duffel bags. He had started making preparations to get the Impala shipped over to Australia when Cas appeared for the third time that day. He appeared in front of Dean when he was carrying a coffee, which he jumped and spilt, scolding hot, all down Cas' front. He didn't seem to notice all that much, to Dean's amusement.

"I see you have found out where he is going. And you are leaving."

"Yup."

There was a silence as Dean placed his coffee on the bench and returned to his desk. He flipped the notebook over discreetly as he ruffled through a draw. Cas walked up behind him with an expression of expectation and confusion.

"...And?"

"And what?"

"Where is he?"

Dean stood up straight with a smile on his face.

"Ah come on. You're telling me you don't know?"

Cas looked at Dean curiously.

"I don't know. He's hiding from me remember?"

Dean raised his chin in a half nod.

"Oh. What, your spies can't find a seven foot man sitting on an a plane?"

Cas looked away. He side stepped up the Dean and slipped the notebook from the desk and read the list of locations. He dropped the notebook back on the desk and looked at Dean, his brow creased in frustration.

"Australia. That would take too long to get there, especially if he's halfway there."

"What, you can't stop him from flying?"

"Yes, I could ground him early, but it would be an abuse of power."

"Screw the rules. Aren't you the head honcho anyway?"

"Yes, but I have restrictions on what I use my powers for. Can't you get there faster?"

Dean shook his head and stuck his thumb towards the garage.

"I need to transport my horse out there too. I'd like to be able to get around legally."

Cas glared at the garage door, which was shut, and it opened swiftly, stopping just before the wall. He walked in and put a hand to the motorcycle and both it and its parts disappeared completely. Dean gasped and raced in.

"That doesn't even work yet! You chucklehead, I meant the car! What did you do to my bike anyway?"

"Oh."

With that, Cas reached out and the Impala disappeared. Dean cried out.

"Dude! Where's my car?"

Cas turned to Dean and held out a hand.

"I sent them to a safe location. Now I must transport you there as soon as possible."

Dean took a step backwards and looked fearfully at Cas' outstretched hand.

"No way. I'm not going with you! I like my digestive system working properly thanks."

Cas sighed and raised an eyebrow slightly.

"You would rather fly?" he asked. Dean stopped, considered going with Cas for a moment, but shook his head.

"I'll fly thanks," he answered, his voice wavering.

"Fine. I'll ground both his plane and yours as soon as possible."

"Wait-" Dean began, bus Cas disappeared. This was strange. Why did Cas seem so agitated, not to mention him reappearing three times in one day? Dean gathered his last bits and pieces and zipped up his two duffel bags, which were decidedly light. Dean pulled on his boots and heard Lisa's blue station wagon pull into the driveway. He stood and walked to the front door where they would be entering. He scratched his head anxiously and paced. His mind had gone blank, and the front door knob was turning. As Lisa walked into the house, her radiant smile dropped and was replaced with a confused frown when she saw Dean's serious, pained face.

"Dean? What's wrong?" she asked warily, her eyes searching his.

"I have to leave."


	2. Leaving on a Jet Plane

Chapter 3

Lisa's eyes widened. Ben ran in through the door around his mother with a huge grin on his face. He stopped too as he noticed how pale Dean's face was. Lisa stood in the doorway a few moments, and then seemed to return to her senses with a jolt. She turned to Ben with a shaky smile.

"Ben, can you please go wait in the lounge room?"

Ben nodded once and watched both adults carefully as he left. Dean's eyes shifted uncomfortably around the foyer, before focusing on Lisa.

"What do you mean?" Lisa asked quietly, her voice wavering.

"I have to go away for a while, and I might not come back."

"But why? Is it because things aren't working out with us?" she asked anxiously, "because I've noticed how you seem to be moving away from us..."

"No, that's not it," Dean quickly responded, "I... You remember that angel I told you about?"

Lisa nodded and replied, "Cas?"

"Yeah, him. He kinda rocked up here and told me..." Dean trailed off, trying to find the words he needed. Lisa stepped closer and closed the door behind her. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, you can tell me."

Dean put his hands on her shoulders and looked straight in her eyes.

"He told me Sammy's alive."

Lisa frowned and backed away a little, shaking her head.

"But you told me he's dead. How can he be alive?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted. Lisa thought he was no longer looking at her, but through her off into the distance.

"But I'm going to find out."

The two of them discussed the situation for an hour, Dean managing to feed as little information as possible into the things he was saying. Not that he knew a whole lot, but just to be on the safe side. Dean then left Lisa to go and talk with Ben.

"Hey dude," he said as he walked into Ben's bedroom. The kid was on the floor playing his handheld game, and looked up at Dean with a sad look in his eyes.

"I know, you have to go. I could hear you from here," he sighed and went back to playing his game. Dean sat down on the floor and looked over at the game's screen. He watched the man grinding his skateboard on a rail and land after a round-off.

"You'll look after your mom for me right?"

Ben stopped playing and closed the game's lid.

"Yeah. And I'll expect you to come back."

Dean chuckled to himself and ruffled the kid's hair.

"I promise. Take care, Ben."

With that, Dean stood up and went back to the kitchen, where Lisa was waiting with a forlorn expression. They said their goodbyes, and before he knew it, Dean was in a cab, heading to a bus station. He would've liked to have driven himself, but the Impala was somewhere in Australia.

Once Dean was on the coach, it took ten hours to get to the Los Angeles International Airport. The coach was quite crowded, and he shared his seat with a 40-year-old man who was reading Charles Dickens. He wasn't much to talk to, especially when Dean tried to crack a joke about Oliver Twist, then compared him to Ebenezer Scrooge when he turned towards the window and continued reading. Dean tried to sleep on the ride, and managed to get six hours as the bus drove through the night. He awoke from a nightmare to the glare of the man next to him, as apparently Dean had accidently elbowed him in the face. The last hour of the trip was agonizingly slow for Dean, who was beginning to get anxious about flying. He started to have second thoughts about going with Cas, but he had made his decision and intended to be stubborn and keep to it.

When they finally arrived, Dean was glad to get away from the man next to him, as he had snored through the last half hour. The Airport was busy as always, and it took him a few minutes to get his bearings. After checking in his luggage and emptying his pockets at the security checkpoints, Dean hung around the gate for the remaining hour. He grabbed some coffee, gulped down the whole cup and paced, nervously checking the boarding times every few seconds.

Suddenly, a brunette woman in her thirties appeared beside him with a small bag hanging from her shoulder. Dean stopped pacing only once he had realised she was looking at him with blue eyes.

"Don't like flying?" she asked in a strange accent. Her blue jeans fit snugly around her hips, accentuating her slim waistline, which Dean, being the man he was, couldn't help but admire.

"How'd you ever guess?" he replied sarcastically, not without humour. He couldn't place her accent.

"Well mate, you aren't the only one. Check out that bloke over there," she said and pointed to a short man in a dark overcoat. He was sitting hunched over, his legs jiggling up and down, sweat pouring from his face. Dean looked and smiled, then turned back to the woman. She was giggling, covering her mouth with one hand. Dean noticed she wore a gold wedding band, and had a set of sneakers on her feet. He still couldn't quite remember where he had heard her accent before and where it was from. Was it British?

"He does look like he's in a rough shape. I'm Dean."

"Oh, I'm Michele." They shook hands and Dean realised the accent was Australian. Her dainty figure and high cheekbones led her to be quite attractive, especially with her radiant smile.

"So where are you off to?" she asked, letting go of his hand and taking a seat. Dean felt inclined to stand and pace some more, but she patted the seat next to her. So he sat down.

"I'm heading to Australia."

"Oh yeah. I'm goin' there myself. I've been workin' a job over here and haven't been home in years."

"What do you do?"

"Build aircraft. I find and restore old war models. Yourself?"

"I'm a mechanic. Family business. My brother is somewhere in Melbourne and I have to deliver some equipment to him."

"Ah," Michele nodded and looked out through the glass windows at the aircraft. She pulled out her ticket and checked the seat number.

"Hey, same row as me," Dean said, removing his own ticket from his pocket. Her eyebrows rose and she laughed.

"What're the chances?" she mused. Dean smiled and put his ticket back in his pocket. Then he stopped and became wary of the woman. She could be some sort of creature, planning to gank him when he's on board the plane with no escape. He excused himself to go to the bathroom and, once he was out of sight, he bought a water bottle from a vending machine. He strolled to the men's room and made sure there was no-one in there, before pulling a chain from his jacket pocket. On the end was a cross, which he hung over the open bottle and chanted.

After a few minutes, he returned with his bottle of water. She was still sitting alone, watching the aeroplanes passing the windows with calculating eyes.

"Hey," he called as he was a few meters behind. She turned and returned the greeting, and was promptly splashed a little on her face. When she wiped it away, she saw Dean standing sheepishly, apologising about his clumsiness. He said it was just nerves and she waved it away with a laugh. Little did she know, but Dean had purposefully tripped and wet her with Holy water. Dean knew the next step was to check with silver, but he realised her earrings and buckles on her bag were made of silver. He sat back down next to her and sighed.

"Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it. It was only a little anyway."

"So where in Australia do you live?" Dean asked after a few minutes of meaningless chatter.

"Darwin."

"Uh," Dean tried to think, but he only knew Sydney and had recently learnt about Melbourne. "Sorry, I don't know where that is."

"It's up the top of the country. Nice place, if a little small for an American from L.A," she laughed. Dean shook his head.

"I'm not from L.A. My fiancé and I live in San Francisco."

"Really? Well, that is still a great deal bigger than Darwin."

Dean nodded and settled back into his chair.

"I've never been to Australia before," he admitted, "But I'm a huge fan of ACDC." Michele gasped, then chuckled.

"Well, you'll love it there. I've been living around L.A, but recently came from Orlando."

The pair talked about places they had visited for the rest of the time until they boarded the plane. They had the row to themselves, which meant they could choose window or aisle seats. They became fast friends and by the time the aeroplane was in the air, they were sharing photos from their wallets. Dean was careful to remove the image of Sam and himself without her seeing the diverse range of credit cards and ID's. Michele took out an image of her, her husband and two girls, and proudly showed Dean.

"The blonde one is Kasey, who's six, and the one that looks like me is Camille. She's nine."

Dean took the photo from Michele and smiled at the family who were all laughing at some unheard joke. He noticed Michele looked younger in the image, maybe early twenties. Dean handed the photo back to Michele, who had a warm expression on her face as she looked at her family.

"How ya goin'?" she asked, to which Dean looked at her oddly.

"I mean are you dealing with the flight?"

Dean shook his head and scanned the cabin.

"No, but I am trying. I'd rather be on the ground, and not thirty thousand feet up in the air."

Michele nodded, understanding his fears. She settled back into her seat and closed her eyes.

"I'm gunna get some shut eye. Try and relax."

Dean nodded and lessened his grip on the arms of the chair, which he had held since take-off. He too closed his eyes and eventually drifted off to sleep.

The flight was a long one, and the two spent their awake hours talking, watching in flight movies and playing poker, in which Dean didn't even have to go easy on Michele. They bet with quarters they managed to pile together, and Dean barely managed to win several times. By the time Singapore came around, the two were aching for solid ground, as the last half of the flight had been full of turbulence. When the Captain told everyone they would be landing in half an hour, Dean nearly applauded. After a smooth landing, Dean and Michele went their separate ways, promising each other a round of beers in a pub if they met each other again. Michele left quickly and boarded her plane.

Dean found Singapore very crowded and loud. He was usually fine with crowds, but after the claustrophobic flight, he wanted out. Dean had to buy a new bottle of water as customs had made him throw it out. He wasn't staying in Singapore for long, as his connecting flight was leaving within the hour.

When he made his way to the men's room, he had a feeling someone was following him. And they weren't human. He decided to trust his instincts, so he found a quiet corner of the airport and waited. Before he knew it, standing before him was Castiel.

"Dude, stop being such a stalker!"

Cas' face remained static. He looked around, but no-one was paying any attention to the pair.

"I am finding it difficult to track you. I need to wipe the sigils from your body."

Dean stepped back and held up his hands defensively.

"Deal with it."

"I don't have time to keep following you around, nor do I want to. It is getting difficult giving you personal visits when there is an army of angels that need someone to tell them what to do."

"So why do you want to clean my ribs?"

"Dean, you are invisible to me if I don't have contacts to tell me where you are."

Dean stared at Cas, then shouted, alarmed, "Angels are watching me?"

Several heads turned but Dean carried on staring at Cas, and they kept going about their business.

"Yes, but if you don't want that, let me erase the sigils."

"You think I'm that stupid? Don't answer that. If I have no sigils, you could beam down here at any moment and find me. I'll take my chances with the stalkers."

Cas sighed. He glanced at the crowd to make sure no-one was looking, and then disappeared. Dean didn't even bother checking around him for the angel. He turned to see a flight monitor that told him his flight to Melbourne had arrived. He checked a map on a wall and set off to get on his plane.


	3. Across the Sea

Chapter 4 – Signs of Life

Dean was sitting alone near the rear of the plane. The turbulence was increasing, and his hyperactive imagination was heightening his fears, as each air pocket they skimmed over brought on a split-second sensation of freefalling that seemed to last an age. His knuckles were turning white, gripping the armrests so tight, and as one of the cabin crew walked past, they were surprised he hadn't started bleeding all over his jeans. A passenger sitting across from him watched with sympathy as Dean's wide eyes flitted around the cabin, searching for the tears in the hull that would signal their doom.

"You okay mate?" he asked, "'cause you look like Ghostface from _The Scream_ movies."

Dean smirked slightly and replied quickly, "Everything's just peachy." In any other situation, he would've commended the man's knowledge of horror flicks, but the turbulence, defying all reasoning, seemed to be getting worse, and Dean was in no mood for fun and games. Suddenly, the Captain's voice was heard echoing around the cabin, which made Dean turn a paler shade of white.

"This is your Captain speaking. There seems to be a bit of a breeze blowing." He paused for a moment as nervous laughter was heard from the passengers.

"We have been ordered to land due to unpredictable air currents. We will be landing in Darwin within the hour. We apologise for the inconvenience."

Dean swore and checked his seatbelt was done up. He hadn't unbelted the whole flight, except for the terrifying trip to the bathroom which he made sure he wouldn't have to walk while flying again.

As the Captain had promised, within the hour the plane was touching wheels to the runway.

Dean was first to rocket down the aisle to get off the plane. He stepped from the plane into an air-conditioned corridor, and power-walked to the gateway. As he entered the small airport lobby, he was greeted with the sight of many people watching the flight screens anxiously. Dean got out of the way of the other passengers exiting the plane and turned to one of the screens mounted from the roof. His flight had been cancelled until further notice, along with every other flight. Although the people were talking of some kind of cyclone to the north, even the flights down south were cancelled too. Frustrated yet relieved, he zipped through the customs, as he had nothing really to show, and found his way quickly to his baggage. Once he had this, he went to the exchange counter and changed all of the money in his wallet. Because the Aus dollar was close the US dollar, Dean didn't lose much. He headed down the escalators and was surprised at how little people there were in the airport, especially seeing as it was around three in the morning. He shrugged, shifted his two duffel bags higher up his shoulders and headed for the glass doors that marked the exits. Nothing could've prepared him for the air outside. The humidity hit him like a brick wall, and he broke out in sweating almost instantly. The air felt thick, even though it was around November. Then he remembered the seasons were switched around and that it was nearing the height of summer. Dean rolled his eyes and stood along the concrete path until a taxi rolled in front of him. The driver got out and eyed Dean. He was not a very tall man, and had quite the stubble raging across his chin and down his neck. But his most dominant feature was his bulging gut, which sort of flopped out in front of him while the rest of his body remained relatively average. Dean threw his two bags into the boot which the man held open and started walking towards the right side of the cab. The taxi driver watched him curiously, and then smiled. Dean turned around the see what was taking so long and noticed the expression on the driver's face.

"You a yank?" he asked gruffly.

"Yeah, and?"

"That's the driver's side."

Dean glanced in the window and sure enough, he saw the steering wheel. He grinned a little sheepishly.

"I was just seeing if you'd notice. Can we go?" Dean asked quickly, and walked around the other side of the car. The driver just grinned, as if he'd seen this happen before.

The driver's name was Damian and he had a way of trying to make conversation. Dean was hesitant at first, because he couldn't understand some of his slang, but ended up obliging. They mostly talked about trivial things, and Damian was quite happy to lead the conversation through his family's lives, with Dean pitching in here and there. Dean wanted somewhere good to stay, so Damian drove to a nice place that had a pub out front. The _Victoria Hotel_, or something like that. They bid each other farewell, Dean giving Damian a tip for his help. Dean was pretty jet-lagged, so he went straight to sleep once he had checked in.

The next morning, Dean went exploring. He had to find information on how long the flights had been delayed for, and if Sam's flight had been cancelled as well. Dean started to regret not getting his ribs wiped, because he had no idea where to start. He decided to check out the local newspaper, which he found in the pub, and was surprised at the article on front page. It was something about a giant crocodile spotted in a local waterhole where some tourist had gone missing. Dean was instantly drawn in and decided to continue reading. He read it was the third person in two weeks to have gone missing in the Territory, and he began to think it was a job. Dean saw no harm in investigating these events as well as trying to find Sam. Dean went back into his small room and looked for the notepad in his duffel bags. He found it and read through the addresses, but he didn't know where most of them were from. Dean had no internet connection because his mobile was programmed for the States, so he went back to the pub counter and asked the bartender where there was an internet cafe.

"Geez, I think there's one in Casuarina, in the big shopping centre," he answered after a few seconds of thinking. He gave Dean directions and information about bus timetables. Dean sat at a table and traced a finger along 'Mitchell St' and found the nearest bus stop. He found it easy to locate the nearest shopping centres, bus stops and 'places of interest', which happened to be along the same connecting stretches of road.

"Well, well, well. Small world or what?" said a familiar voice. Dean turned to see Michele standing behind him with a stack of dirty plates. Dean smiled and subtly made sure his list of names and details were hidden.

"What brings you to the Vic?" she asked. Dean looked around and noticed for the first time how many backpackers were in the room. He turned back to her with his confident smile.

"Oh you know, sightseeing," he said and waved a hand vaguely, "Actually my flight was brought down and they won't be going anywhere too soon."

Michele nodded and excused herself for a second. She carried the plates to an unseen kitchen and came back a few seconds later.

"Need any help? I can see you got a map to get around."

"Yeah, I'm going to a 'Casuarina Square'. I hear they have an internet cafe and a great selection of sunglasses."

Michele laughed and sat down in a chair next to him. She snatched the map from him and ruffled about in her pockets. Dean heard the sound of coins.

"Here, some change. You probably only have notes with you and the bussies don't like 'em. Cas is pretty small so it shouldn't be too hard to find a row of computers."

Dean looked at her with masked amazement before casually inquiring, "Cas?"

"Yeah, that's what we call the shops. You know, short for Casuarina?"

"Oh." Dean looked away and shrugged.

"Can I buy you a drink? Or is it too early?"

"Sorry, I'll have to take a raincheck. Lots of things to do, like book new plane tickets. See you around."

Michele said goodbye and went back to her job. Dean left the pub and walked along the footpath. He blended in with all the other backpackers and tourists, and he was interested in all the women in light clothing walking in groups, enjoying juice or a milkshake. It was a boiling day and Dean was glad when he found his way onto the bus. There were lots of people, but no-body paid him any attention, apart from the group of school girls giggling amongst themselves at the rear of the bus and shooting him sly glances every so often. He reached the Casuarina bus depot and followed the flow of people under the car park and up into the shopping centre. The air-conditioning was bliss, and he wandered around until he found the internet cafe. In actuality, it was a row of about eight computers huddled together outside some kind of surf shop. He gave coins to the machine and instantly he was transported to Google.

"Alrightly," he said, before getting to work on the keys. He searched up the details of the list of hunters Bobby had given him and searched for background information. But as expected, they were all pretty careful about their ID trail on the net. He printed his information out and stuffed it in his jean's pocket. He had left his jacket in the hotel room, as it was too hot to wear, but that had an almost endless supply of pockets, limiting the amount of things he had to sit on. Dean finished searching for the other hunters by about lunch time, and the machine was sucking all of his coinage away. He had to be quick, so he checked to see if Sam had bought any aeroplane tickets. Dean knew it would be nearly impossible to find Sam's records, but he tried anyway. And, as luck would have it, Dean found no evidence. _This could mean two things_, he thought, _either Sam hasn't bought any ticket, or I just can't find his records_. Dean brushed his fingers through his hair and leaned back from the computer. He made sure he had everything, then logged off the terminal.

"Greedy machine," he mumbled, "Not a cent of change."

Dean left the group of computers and searched around for a pay phone. The shopping centre was crowded, so he tried to find a quiet payphone where he could hear himself think. Dean had found one of the hunter's on his list lived not far to the south of Darwin, in a place called Noonamah.

Dean found an orange payphone bolted to the wall near a Woolworths supermarket. He checked his pockets for any more change, but he only found enough for a few minutes. He dialled the number and listened to the ringing.

"...Hello?"

"Is this Warren Gould?"

"You a mate of Bobby's?"

"Yeah. Bobby Singer said you could help me. I'm... ah... _hunting_ in the wrong country."

"Meet me at the Noonamah Pub."

The other line clicked and Dean stared down the receiver. He raised an eyebrow and hung up.

"Well that was easy..." he muttered.

Dean fumbled around in his pockets for his bus timetable map and breathed a sigh of relief. Noonamah was on the public bus routes. Dean really wished he had his Impala. He hated having to ride with strangers, let alone in another country.

Dean made his way out of the shopping centre and into the heat of the bus depot. He waited a few minutes before his bus linking to Palmerston arrived.

The ride seemed to take forever and his linking bus was already waiting for him when he arrived. He noticed this depot was far less crowded, and the bus he needed to catch was virtually empty. Dean had the whole back half of the bus to himself, so he used this time to go through the printouts and make notes on his hunter list. This bus trip went pretty quick, and before he knew it, Dean was getting off across the road from the pub. The area consisted of the pub and a fuel station that served as a basic general store. There was an old semi trailer parks to the left of the store, receiving fuel through a long thick pipe. The driver was standing watching the bus drive away with a lit cigarette in his mouth. Dean crossed the road and headed over to the truckie.

"Hey, are you Warren Gould?" he asked, his head tilted a little. The man smiled and shook his head.

"Nah mate, he doesn't do his runs for another... oh... two days? If he said he'd be here, check the pub," he said and stuck his thumb towards the smaller building across the car park. Dean thanked the man and went over. He stopped at the timber deck out the front and saw another man sitting at a bench. He wore a pair of dusty black boots, faded jeans and a khaki coloured singlet. He looked solidly built, his arms rippled with muscle. He had brown stubble growing along his square jaw, had large, powerful hands and his brilliant blue eyes seemed to miss nothing.

"You're that Winchester bloke. The older one. You don't have much to carry, do ya?"

Dean stepped onto the deck and nodded. He cleared his throat but before he could begin, Warren butted in.

"Bobby told me you'd be coming. 'Sides, are there any hunters that haven't heard of the Apocalypse Brothers?"


	4. Signs of Life

Dean frowned and was about to retaliate but Warren held up a darkened hand.

"And I know you fixed things, so don't bite my head off. In fact, I have a lot of respect for you and your brother. The things you blokes've been through..."

Dean was slightly confused, but took a breath and began.

"This might sound a little strange, but have you seen an Impala and a half build Harley Davidson suddenly appear around here?"

Warren smiled, showing teeth that had seen better days. "Oh, that's yours?"

Dean's lips twitched at the corners in the ghost of a smile.

"Next question. Have you seen Sammy?"

Warren lifted a hand to his chin and thought for a second.

"Sam Winchester? I may have connections, but I don't monitor every hunter that enters the country. But I can ask Johnson," said, almost more to himself. Then he stopped. "I thought he was dead?"

"Yeah he was but he's been... sighted. On a flight to Melbourne, but all flights were grounded here."

The hunter shrugged. "So, what do you need?"

Dean shuffled. "I'm in a new country. I don't know where to begin. How many hunters are in the area for a start?"

"You are in luck. Would you believe some of our coppers are hunters?"

Dean was surprised.

"We have to have them in the force. How else are we gunna get information and let fellow hunters fly into the country? You think you would've gotten through like you did without a Visa or nothin'?"

Dean knew Warren was right. His passport was improvised and he didn't even think about a Visa.

"You're gunna need more money than you have, a place to park, paperwork, weapons..." Warren mumbled, steadily getting quieter until Dean couldn't hear what he was saying. He even thought the hunter was talking more to himself than to Dean. Suddenly, Warren stood up and walked around the back of the pub. Dean followed, and they found themselves in a scrap yard. And, there under a dust cover, Dean made out the shape of his Impala.

"There you are baby. Have I missed you," he said and pulled the dustcover from the car. She was still shiny and sleek, her glossy paint protected from the orange dust by the calico. Dean rubbed a hand along the roof and gave her a pat.

"Thanks man. I owe you a beer," he said to Warren, who just laughed.

"Wait until you see the bike."

The two of them continued through the scrap yard until they reached a small shed. There, in the shadows, was the Fat Boy, in its glorious wholeness. Dean looked from the bike to Warren.

"Did you finish building it?"

"Nah, Johnson did. He doesn't have much of a job at the moment, so he just builds things. It was like Christmas when that thing dropped in," Warren said, then turned curiously to Dean.

"How did ya get 'em here anyway?"

Dean winked and grabbed the bike's handlebars. He wheeled it out of the corner and allowed her to stand and taste the sunlight.

"Ok, now go get your bags."

Dean looked at Warren, then nodded. He checked the fuel gauge on the Harley and on the Impala. Both empty. Warren saw the expression on his face and threw him a set of keys.

"Here are your keys. But we're taking my Ute. And I'm drivin'."

The white Hilux was not the smoothest ride, much less Dean having to sit in the passenger's seat, which he could feel was actually some kind of square box stuck in front of a board to make it look like a seat. The two hunters didn't start talking until ten minutes after leaving Noonamah.

"So, have you heard anything about the crocodile attacks recently?"

Warren glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. "Which ones?"

Dean frowned slightly. "Three people in two weeks? Aint that a little out of the ordinary?"

Warren shrugged. "Nope. Tourists just swim in the wrong places," he joked darkly, meeting Dean's eyes with a sparkle of mischief. "Besides, the job you're lookin' for is the one I'm on."

"What do you mean? Man eating crocodiles not enough for you?"

"There are a lot of nasty things around here, mate. Our harbour is one of the only places in the world where man-eatin' crocs, man-eatin' sharks and box jellies swim around together. Couldn't imagine why anyone would want to go swimming in our beaches," he said with a serious frown, paused, and added with a laugh, "There's no surf!"

"Ha ha. What's the job, I mean?"

"Oh, I think you call it a... Skinwalker? Yeah, that's it. It's been hanging around here for years, but because people actually get attacked by real crocs 'n' sharks or just go missing in the bush, it's hard to track. But I think I might've caught its trail."

"Is it a local creature?"

"Not that I know of. Not too many legends about shapeshiftin' Indigenous..." he replied, trailing off at the end as if he'd forgotten something. He shook his head and indicated to change lanes.

"Any way I can help?"

"Yep. I'm not helping you out for nothin'," he grinned, "And in actual fact I'm going to sign you up to the Force."

Dean looked at Warren wide eyed.

"Are you mad? I think you know how much trouble I'm in with the cops in the States!"

"Come on mate, think. You think I would put '_Dean Winchester' _on the forms? Hell no! But I need you to be legit so I can register your car, bike and get you a bloody licence."

"So what, you gunna put '_John Smith' _on the dotted line?"

"Puh-lease," Warren responded, and Dean caught that same spark of mischief in his eyes. "I'm going to put '_Thomas Jones'_."

"Dude, you might as well have put _'Jack Johnson'_. What, did you pick these names out of a list of most common?"

Warren feigned hurt. "That man built your Harley, thank you very much!"

Dean scowled. "You named a hunter Jack Johnson?"

Warren smiled, pretending to be very proud of his choice. Dean couldn't help but feel lighter when around Warren and his sense of humour. In the back of Dean's mind however, was the thought that Lucifer could be riding around in Sam's skin, or worse, that Sam had embraced his possessor. Dean was quiet for the rest of the trip into Darwin.

Dean ran into Michele when he was checking out.

"Dean! You leaving now?" she called. It was around six o'clock and her shift was just about up.

"Oh hey. No, I'm just relocating, actually," he replied, conscious of the stare Warren was giving him from one of the tables. Michele tilted her head and made a fuss about him staying in Darwin longer.

"I'm not leaving town. I've just caught up with a... cousin of mine, distant, who happens to have a spare place I can crash in."

"That's a relief. I was gunna invite you to a get-together me and some friends are having. Down at Berry Springs. I would love it if you could come," she asked, her eyes pleading. Dean nodded. How could Dean turn down those pleading eyes? Who cared if she was married? He could look!

"Great. See you down there Sunday! We're having a Barbie, so bring something," she said before whisking out the door. Dean stared after her for a second, before meeting the eyes of Warren, who was trying to speak in some kind of eye movement language. Then he realised he was indicating the woman checking him out, which Dean thought sounded funny but dared not say anything, was holding a pen and notepad towards him. Dean signed out with a smile and deftly lifted the duffel bags onto his shoulders.

"Took you so long? Couldn't remember which name you had to sign?"

"I remembered. That woman who just left, she invited me to 'Berry Springs' on Sunday. Do you know where that is?" Warren rolled his eyes.

"What is it with you Americans? Even the German tourists know where that is."

Dean ignored this comment and trudged off to where the Hilux was parked. Dean was recognising that the Toyota Hilux, white and dirty, was the inconspicuous car of the Territory. Half the population had one, and Dean knew how much the Impala would stand out. The two hunters drove back out to Palmerston and pulled into the Police station. Warren got out of his Ute and strolled right into the station. Dean tried to follow confidently, but he knew how many cameras were watching, and he knew that someone watching might recognise him. It didn't matter he was a foreigner; he never felt good heading into a hornets nest.

The two men reached the counter inside and Warren smiled at the receptionist.

"G'day darl'. Is Egan here today?"

The receptionist looked up at Warren with tired eyes.

"Hey Gould. Steve just won't sit down. He's been ginning around all day, and it's driving me bananas. But he might be in his office now. Go on through."

Warren tipped an imaginary hat and walked down a hallway. Dean walked through after him, not before waving at the receptionist, startling her. The halls were plain and white, with little framed photographs of social gatherings and parades hung up here and there. There were doorways set at regular intervals, revealing either empty offices with telephones ringing, or offices full of people talking on telephones. They reached the end of the hall and Warren knocked on the closed door. A voice called out for them to come in, and Warren opened the door.

Sitting at the desk was a short, round man with quite the receding hairline. His round cheeks and squashed nose was accentuated by the walrus' moustache that wiggled about on his upper lip.

"Gould!" he exclaimed, not at all seeming tough or intimidating. His eyes even looked to Dean like those of a frog; too big and bright to fit on such a small, round face.

Warren nodded seriously. "Egan. I have here with me the one Bobby Singer called about."

The round man stopped smiling and looked down his nose at Dean, which required him to tilt his head back a bit.

"Winchester. What can I do for you?"

"I'm here to-" Dean began, before Warren coughed and butted in.

"He's here on a hunt. He needs to pass as a local... well, local-ish, and he needs to have the required equipment."

Dean looked from Warren to Egan. He was confused at how the two police officers interacted, but remained silent. Too much was at stake, stepping on the wrong toes in a strange country, no less a police station.

Egan smiled and clapped his hands.

"Alrighty then. Dean, come up with a name and I'll have my secretary get you the paperwork. I suppose you know how to drive already?"

Dean knew he didn't need to answer, as Egan had turned away to pull out a pen from his desk.

"Ok, you need a Visa, rego, couple a credit cards, money, clothes, licence, birth certificate and police ID."

Dean frowned and looked at Warren who was nodding slightly. Dean got the message.

"Yeah. And I need a motorcycle licence."

Gould just nodded and turned back with some papers in his stubby hands.

"Just write your name there and I'll tell Katie now."

Dean took the pen, paused for a second, and then scribbled a name on the paper. Egan snatched it up and smiled.

"Good to have you, Mr Dean Young."


	5. Welcome to the Jungle

After Dean was handed all of his paperwork, which was nearly two inches thick, Egan took off with a smile that stretched ear to ear. Once he was out of the room, Dean turned to Warren.

"Why so scared?"

"You want to be careful around him. He knows the truth, but he really doesn't like us hunters. We make a mess of the country, and he has to cover it up. Why he doesn't just quit, God only knows. He's cheery around you because of your reputation. He thinks he can use you as leverage. Either that, or he wants your legendary skills at his disposal."

Dean stepped back, eyeing the man defensively.

"Dude, legendary? Please, you know how many times I've come close to dying?"

"I'd say. I heard you and your brother took a shotgun to the chest at point blank. That's pretty close."

Dean looked down at the paperwork and didn't say anything. Warren had the sense to not pursue the matter further.

Dean spent a long time sitting at Egan's desk and filling in the forms. Warren sat for the whole time absently scanning through a folder he'd found on the jolly man's desk. The younger hunter asked Warren a few things, such as Medicare, tax and bank numbers, as well as addresses and contact numbers. Warren gave him the information and within two hours, he was done.

"Well, that took a helluva long time," Warren sighed. The fluorescent light was deceiving and Dean only just realised the sun had gone down.

"Let's give this to the receptionist and get you to your new hideout," the old hunter grunted and waited for Dean to exit the office.

Dean was getting used to the way Warren spoke. It was at first a little daunting to understand the slang, but he was noticing the patterns of speech. He now knew Australians skipped letters in words, such as the "L" in "Australia" became nonexistent and sounded more like a "y", as in "Austrayah", or how the "-er" at the end of words such as "water" or "hotter" became like an "a", as in "hot-ah". Dean knew he wouldn't be able to imitate the accent, so he set about thinking up a backstory for his alter ego, Dean Young.

"I've gotta call into Woolies and pick up a few things before we go to your place. Want anythin'?"

Dean shook his head and stayed in his seat, watching Warren stride off into the supermarket. Dean was feeling tired, but he was determined to get set up before he allowed himself to relax. He scanned the grubby cab and absently looked at the miscellaneous objects on the dashboard, still baking from the day's sun. He saw scrunched up bits of paper, some screws, a handful of coins, a screwdriver, a few shotgun shells and a piece of chalk. He also noticed the unusual things like a bag of salt and a long wooden stake. There was also the folder. Dean recognised it, folded up as it was, as the folder in Egan's office. He snatched it from between a few loss coins and unfolded the abused paper. On the cover were a few numbers and letters, like some kind of serial number. He opened the folder to reveal a gory image of a child, covered in blood. His body was a little decomposed, and his ears had been nibbled by fish, but that was nothing to the glaringly obvious loss of the lower part of his torso and legs. Anyone would've instantly thought some kind of huge jawed animal had taken a bite and left its meal unfinished, but Dean knew better than to take things for how they first looked. There was a red circle around a point of interest and it took Dean a moment to find what it was pointing out amid the flayed flesh of his chest. But sure enough, Dean saw the definite shape of a human bite amongst the larger puncture wounds of crocodile teeth. This must've been the case Warren was working on. He flicked through the thin pages and saw a couple of other images, each with red circles showing human bite marks. He didn't have time to read the whole things, but he got the picture. He folded it back up and placed it exactly how he'd found it. He was glad he had stopped reading early, because Warren soon appeared at the car windows and threw a few plastic bags in the back.

"Not much for the environment, are you?" Dean joked and got a box thrown at him for his troubles. He caught it before it hit his face, and he saw it was a box of cigarettes.

"I don't smoke."

Warren shrugged but didn't try to take back the pack. Dean pocketed it and Warren started the ute.

The pair drove back out to Noonamah and turned down a road near the pub. A minute later, they were pulling into an overgrown driveway where the palm trees growing along the edges were choked with Eucalypts and cycads, making the place feel like a prehistoric jungle. As the ute turned the corner of the driveway, the headlights lit up the carport of an old brick house, the only visible part of the house throught the vegetation.

"Creepy," Dean murmured, and Warren nodded solemnly.

"And you are the only one here. The last hunter moved out about three years ago to live in Russia," Warren explained, "But the weather didn't agreed with him and he died of pneumonia."

The Ute pulled up under the large carport, scattering small lizards that were sitting on the rear wall. Warren killed the engine and got out. Dean followed suit. The two men walked to the side of the carport and slipped down the path that opened up there. It led past a few dirty windows that were impossible to see through and up to a door. Opposite the door was a birdcage, but the inhabitant had been long gone. Warren opened the door and it creaked ominously.

The house was dark, and the lights didn't work. There wasn't much however to look at; the first room they entered was a small dining/kitchen that ran straight into the tiny lounge room without a dividing wall, a small passageway twisted from the lounge room and ended with two bedrooms on opposite sides of the passage and a bathroom at the end. The walls were covered in a dirty white paint, which were painted in a way that each and every brick could be seen underneath. The doors were all scratch and bare, the knobs were tarnished beyond belief and when Dean tried to turn on the ceiling fans, he found they were as dead as the lights. Warren disappeared from Dean's side while he inspected the first room, and jumped as he heard metal scrape across the bare concrete floor. He entered the other room to find Warren dragging a steel bed frame from one side of the room to the other where it had held closed the wardrobe doors. He then remembered as the doors of the wardrobe clattered to the floor why he had placed the bed there. Dean went back out and fetched his two bags from the Ute. When he came back, Warren was ripping an old black garbage bag from a mattress he had found in the wardrobe.

"Here you are, and I'll be goin'. On Sunday, a large crate will be delivered here. It's weapons and stuff. We need you on the job asap," the older hunter said before giving Dean a wink that was barely visible in the dim light, "And I don't think it's necessary to give you any details."

Warren left and Dean heard the car start in the carport, which sounded surprisingly loud until Dean saw a hole in the wall that looked straight at the Ute pulling out of the port.

"Nice. No-one's sneaking up on me," he declared quietly as he examined the hole. It was blurry and appeared to have been painted over with a one-way film so it was invisible on the other side, but he could still make out most shapes, even in the dark.

Dean rolled onto his bed, satisfied with his new hideout, and fell asleep, although it was fitful because he kept hearing strange sounds all night.

Dean awoke to the sound of unknown birds that each struck a new chord of cheer into his morning. Especially the crazy laughing, which made him feel like laughing. Then he remembered where he was and why, and stopped feeling good.

Dean checked the kitchen and saw that there was no food in the fridge, which he expected considering the power was cut off, and there was only a big bag of salt in the pantry, which he proceeded to use up lining entrances into the house. He stepped outside the fly screen door and raised an eyebrow. The dense vegetation around the house had at night seemed impenetrable, but in the light of day, he could see it was thinner to the other side of the birdcage. Through the row of cycads, he could see a clearing surrounded by the dense vegetation, and in the centre of the clearing was three palm trees, each a foot and a half thick and tapering off much higher than the surrounding trees. But it was not the isolation of the trees alone that made Dean gasp; it was the faint, but unmistakable tint of dried blood. He walked up the central tree and looked up, noticing the claw marks scoring the sides of the bark. The palm trees were all the same size, and the fronts at the top splayed out so far that they touched the surrounding trees. The ground was covered in a brittle grass and the soil bore faint traces of spray paint. He noticed it was in the shape of a demon trap that was carefully hidden on the very edges of the clearing and nodded. He could see why this was a good spot as the thick plants blocked views from the road, and they were far enough away from other properties that if Dean turned on some loud rock music, any screams would go unheard by the neighbours. He left the clearing slightly bewildered despite having seen seriously messed up demon holding pens. He just hoped he wouldn't have to use it often.

Dean turned around and walked to the carport. He saw his Impala sitting happily below a row of fluorescent lights and a few hanging fans. He noted the first thing he would have to do would be to turn on the power, then brush away the layers of cobwebs and Daddy Longlegs spiders bouncing up and down from the ceiling. He noticed on the bonnet the pile of paperwork and a black plastic bag. He was surprised the Impala had arrived without him knowing, as he would've heard the engine running. He shrugged and decided he was just exhausted and had missed it getting his beauty sleep. Dean slipped the paper pile from the bonnet and read the letter on top.

_Make sure you put the rego sticker on properly and replace the number plates. I put the plates in the back seat. In the bag is a few things I thought you might need. Your bike is still here in the shed, because it needs a few things adjusted. I'll see you on Monday._

_By the way, nice wheels._

Dean grinned and opened the rear doors of the car. On the back seat was two license plates that read "NT 911", a third smaller plate that read "YOUNG", a plain black open-faced helmet, a few piles of linen including sheets and towels, a mysterious rectangular box and a black briefcase. Dean lifted the box out of the car and looked at the paper stuck to the front with masking tape.

_Tax payers are so nice aren't they? – WG_

Dean frowned and carefully opened the box on the bonnet of the Impala. What was revealed was a shiny, brand-new black laptop with an internet modem snuggled into the foam alongside the power cords and three cell phones. Dean laughed.

"Hell yes!"

A few days flew by as Dean cleaned up the hideout, moved a few discarded crates intot he rooms to serve as benches etc and set himself up. He found to his surprise that the briefcase was stuffed full of green notes which he could see by the bold numbers printed at the corners were hundred-dollar notes. The Impala had also been filled up with fuel, so Dean was able to drive out to the gas station and fill up a few discarded Jerry cans he found on the property. He spent the days up to Saturday buying limited furniture and objects he would need, and pretty soon his base was kitted out into a functioning survival bunker. By the time Sunday rolled around, Dean was ready for the shipment of weapons. He had the place even connected to power and had bought a range of clothes and a pair of boardies with a few green notes. Dean had also explored the property, and found the house was in the middle of the land in which if you tried to break into the house from the back, you would have to hack through the plants with a machete to even get close. He was waiting out the front of the driveway, sitting in a small fold-up chair under the shade of a Bougainvillea. It was a very hot day and the sun was relentless in its attempt to get at Dean through the tree's green and orange leaves. He was wondering if the day could get any hotter, because it was ten thirty and it already felt like 120 degree heat, when a large truck pulled onto the little road and rolled to a stop right at the front of Dean's driveway. A man in a fluoro orange shirt jumped out and rolled up the back door. Inside was a huge wooden crate, and, printed in black letters, it said "Dean Young".


	6. Jaws

Dean and the man in fluorescent orange wheeled the large crate in on a trolley-like device and dropped it in the car port next to the Impala. The man, whose name was Geoff, praised the Impala, made small talk, which to Dean found he could talk a lot about impersonal matters quite easily, then left. Dean opened the crate and grinned maliciously as he loaded an enormous arsenal into the Impala, which hadn't carried a gun since he first moved to San Francisco with Lisa. Dean's smile dropped as he remembered what he had left behind. He shrugged away the feeling of guilt that crept up his spine and continued to load the boot of the car.

By eleven-ish, Dean was packed and ready to roll. He kept the car loaded despite the innocence of the outing. He was just going to swim, eat and hang out with locals after all. But paranoid Dean stood firm to his habits and made sure the hidden compartment in the boot was firmly shut. He had bought a few beef steaks and sausages, as well as a six pack of XXXX Gold beer. He threw on the boardies and grabbed a towel before driving out to Berry Springs.

Dean arrived and saw the place had quite a packed car-park for being in the middle of nowhere. He saw large groups of tourists dawdling through the trees and several smaller groups of local youths and families milling about in a relaxed way. He grabbed the Esky the meat and beer was in and walked in the direction everyone else was going. He followed the track and found a few benches scattered across a grassy clearing. Sitting at a bench was Michele, who's face lit up when she spotted the hunter. She waved him over and set about introducing the twelve other people hanging around. Dean tried hard to remember their names. There was Billy the blond, Katie his girlfriend with the butterfly tattoo on her left shoulder, there was Florence, Rod and their two kids Ben and Josh, 14 and 16, all of whom had blue eyes, freckles and wild dark hair; there was Dianne, the skinny woman in her late forties, and her husband Greg, who had military cut black hair and alert brown eyes; There was Danny, who had lanky limbs and a dark, sun-scorched face; Danny's daughter Rachel, who looked 16 and had a round, cheerful face; there was also Fred, who had spiky black hair and a stubble, 20, and his roommate Steve, who was tall, square-jawed and 23. Dean's gifts of meat and beer made him an instant favourite and had the women sighing with relief, as they hadn't brought enough meat. Dean soon found himself down at the springs, trying to create the biggest water bomb with Billy, Fred and Steve.

The water was cool and crystal clear; Dean could see large Archer fish swimming towards him to nibble at his toes, and large grey Barramundi floating calmly deeper away from the people. There were large spiky palm-like trees called Pandanus trailing their long leaves along the slowly flowing water. The pools were deep enough that Dean could just make it to the very deepest point, and the current was slow enough that it would take about fifteen minutes to float ten meters. There were several pools, and they were in the biggest one, which apparently wasn't a favourite with tourists, as they preferred the upper and lower pools to the middle one. Dean won the water bomb contest by experience and decided to try and catch fish. He soon gave up, as the fish in the area had lots of practice swimming away from the humans. After half an hour, all the adults were getting ready prepare the Barbeque. The three kids were still splashing around and screaming with joy, having the same luck as Dean catching fish with their bare hands. Dean was first to get out, as he needed to go and get his towel which was still in the Impala. He was just slamming the car doors shut when he noticed a white Ute screech into the car-park. He took no notice at first, as a majority of the cars in the car-park were not moving as slowly as they should've been. Then it pulled up next to him and a familiar voice called out.

"Dean! Dean!"

Dean looked back to see the pale face of Warren. He was already jumping out of the car and shrugging on a duffel bag.

"We have to get everyone away!" he shouted as he started jogging towards the springs. Dean saw the urgency and popped the boot open. He opened the weapons compartment and grabbed a sawn off, a 9mm, ammunition, silver knives and various other things. He shoved them in a duffel similar to Warren's and locked up the Impala.

As he was following the path down the hill to the middle pool, he heard a blood-curling scream. Along with the scream came urgent shouting, distressed cries and much splashing. He jumped the last few steps and sprinted to the poolside. The adults were all dashing to the side of the pool, swearing and crying out. In the pool, Dean could see Rachel and Josh thrashing their arms and legs as hard as they could to reach the adults, swimming away from some sort of commotion behind them underwater. Their faces were sheet-white and they were screaming. Dean reached the edge and looked for a split second at the horror in the water. Under a layer of frothing foam and bubbles, he could see twisting pale limbs and the huge, dark shape of some monstrous thing spinning and dragging the boy deeper underwater. The foam had already begun to turn red. Dean didn't know exactly how big or what exactly it was, but he made a guess it was a crocodile, and it was at least seven meters long. He wasted another moment paralysed with fear and unable to decide what to do. If he tried to get it with the sawn off, he might hit Ben and any chance of rescue would be gone. But if he tried to go hand-to-hand with the thing, he had almost no chance of getting out of the water alive. In the split second Dean dived into the water with a large silver knife in his left hand, the monster and boy sank. Fortunately, the water was still clear of silt and mud, so Dean could see the beast and boy retreating. Dean barely registered the presence of another man at his side before he dived down through bloodstained water. The monster had the advantage of a long tail well-adapted to swimming and quickly widened the gap between the hunter and the hunted. But the monster was headed towards the lower pool. If it got through the relatively narrow gap between the Pandanus and edge of the channel, it could escape, however it was way too big and it was carrying the limp body of the 14-year-old boy to boot. Dean closed the gap as it tried to wriggle through. Now it was moving much slower and much closer, Dean could see the armoured hide of its back, the sinister snout and the tail thrashing from side to side. He figured it was nearly ten meters long and its strong jaws held Ben in a grip that was probably crushing his bones.

Dean was ahead of the other man, who he had no time to see who it was, and used a protruding rock to shoot across the last few meters. He narrowly avoided a tail to the head, which given its speed and power would've knocked him unconscious. He gripped its tail spines and pulled himself swiftly onto its back. He didn't have time to raise his head and breathe, because the crocodile suddenly rolled and tried to crush him into the bank. Dean instinctively stabbed the long silver blade into the crocodile as it spun and had the breath knocked out of him for his trouble. His vision became blurry as claws scratched his back and the heavy bulk of the croc scrapped his body along the stones of the bed as it tried to wriggle through the narrow gap. The croc slipped over the top of him somehow and batted him with its tail before continuing its struggle into the lower pool. Dean knew he was out of time and his lungs screamed for air. He was dimly aware he no longer had the knife before he took in water and faded out.

Dean's eyes shot open. He coughed and spluttered, his lungs forcefully removing water at the same time as his stomach rejected the remainder of his breakfast. He could see a bright light and the silhouette of someone's head. He then heard gasping as well as swearing. He rolled onto his back to have a coughing fit, and, after it subsided, he just lay down gasping. His eyes slowly adjusted and he recognised the face of Michele, spitting and swearing. She gagged and ran to the water's edge to wash out her mouth.

"Way to go mate," someone said and chuckled. Dean turned his head to look around and saw he was surrounded by people. They all had relieved expressions on their faces. Dean slowly sat up, much to the surprise of some people.

"Is the kid ok?" he gasped, his lungs searing from his drowning experience. Michele returned with Dean's towel in hand.

"We aren't sure yet. He's barely breathing," Florence replied. She had eyes red from tears, which were overflowing with gratitude. She looked over to Dean's other side and he turned his head. Not too far from him was the bloodied body of Ben. His board shorts were non-existent, baring raw and bloodied skin to the air. His rib-cage looked out of shape and the top of his chest barely rose and fell as he breathed shallowly. Dean sighed with relief and struggled to his feet. Michele moved over next to him but he gestured for her not to touch him.

"If it wasn't for Rod, you woulda drowned. He dived in straight after you, but you're a faster swimmer. You reached the croc first but it rolled onto you. After you stabbed it with that knife, which I'm wondering why you are carryin' a knife that big in the first place, it dropped Ben and legged it. But it scrapped a bit a skin off ya both," Michele commented, then threw the towel gently at Dean's face. Rod walked over and held out his hand.

"Without you, my son would most certainly have died," he said gravely, and the men shook hands, understanding in both their eyes.

"Yeah, but I would've died if you hadn't saved me," Dean replied. He then turned to look at Ben.

"Do we know how he's doing?"

"Well, a croc's jaws are pretty powerful," Greg explained, "And it snatched him up pretty quick. The force should've killed him, but he's pretty lucky. Then it tried a Death Roll, you know, to drown him. He took in a lot of water and was smacked against the rocks down there. By rights, he shouldn't be alive now, even in the state he's in."

"Michele is pretty darn good at CPR apparently," chipped in Danny, his deep voice a little shaken. Dean looked around, but he couldn't see the other two kids. Rod noticed and understood what he was looking for.

"Dianne's got them up in the car. They're pretty shaken up, but they'll live," he reassured. "I just want to know how something that big could've gotten into the area unnoticed in the first place."

Dean shook his head, then realisation hit him.

"The people in the lower pool! Are they out of there?" he asked. Michele nodded.

"Yeah, this bloke was there warning them. Dunno how he knew but he had them out before the croc even started trying to escape down there."

Dean smiled and mentally reminded himself to ask Warren how indeed he had known.

When the ambulance arrived, Ben was in a pretty bad state and his breathing had almost ceased. Some of his lesser wounds on his arms and legs had been bandaged to stop the bleeding, but no-one wanted to touch his head or torso for fear of making the situation worse. When he was finally bandaged up and strapped in by the paramedics, it was well past five. The police were taking statements from witnesses, but Dean had warned them to emit the fact of the knife and just say he had tried to tackle the beast with a sharp stick. The police were disbelieving, but all the statements matched up so they just gave Dean handshakes and congratulated him for his bravery. Rod promised Dean he would give him anything if he should want it, and his wife was equally thankful. Michele was very glad Dean was recovering quickly, despite the grazes and cuts ravaging his flesh, but she was also a little confused.

"Who are you? No ordinary person would jump on a ten meter Salty with a butter knife. Rod only jumped in because you did, otherwise we would've run away and let the monster take Ben. That would be the rational thing. Are you crazy?" she interrogated.

Dean just smiled, although it turned into more of a grimace as he was hurting a bit much.

"I told you. I'm a mechanic. I've come from the States on family business and I am not actually insane. I'm just an anti-hero winning chicks."

With that, Dean walked to the Impala and drove off. Michele just stood there even more confused than before.


	7. Going the Distance

Dean sat heavily into one of the cheap hamper chairs he had bought and placed a cushion on to soften the seat. He had returned to Berry Springs to find his knife, and it had been difficult to sneak in as the gates were locked and a few Parks and Wildlife Rangers were on patrol. Dean managed to give them the slip, which was surprisingly difficult. He had to leave his phone near the upper pool and use another of his spares to call it. It rang on full volume and vibrate with the base notes of Metallica's "Enter Sandman", and the Rangers where quickly drawn in by the bait. Dean wasn't too worried about the crocodile then as he figured the Rangers had combed the area with fierce determination. He had removed his coat and stealthily slipped into the water, conscious of the water seeping into his skin. He paddled over to where the enormous crocodile had had problems retreating and had taken a moment to survey the damage. Only the thickest of the plants along the narrow channel had escaped complete destruction. There were trunks of smaller trees pointing meekly at the air, with splintered branches still swaying at awkwardly in the light breeze. The rocks and bed were ravaged with slide marks, and lines of red could be seen staining the fronds that were stuck among the smashed reeds. Dean had shuddered, remembering that the sheer size of the monster had paralysed every adult who witnessed the scene, himself included. Dean was even surprised he had jumped in at all. The reptile was less like an animal and more like a steam train, ploughing its way through previously undisturbed vegetation. As Dean paddled along the path, a glint of metal had caught his eye and he saw his knife sitting on the bed, half buried in silt and stones. He duck-dived, retrieved the knife and slowly made his way back to the bank he could get out at. Luckily, the Rangers were still searching for the phone that had rung, so Dean managed to leave without anyone noticing him. He returned home for a moment to change into dry clothes, and drove back out after ringing the Rangers. He acted all surprised to find the place locked up and got his cell back much quicker that he had hoped. He then returned home, deep in thought.

Dean shifted in the chair and held up the silver blade. He had cleaned it and was waiting for Warren to answer his calls. Dean heard the familiar groan of the Ute pulling into the driveway and went out to the carport to greet the hunter.

"God-dammit Dean!" he cursed with a smile as he got out of the Ute. "I'm not the religious type, but thank the fella upstairs for this. I can't believe you'd do something so reckless!"

Dean was surprised by the outburst, but didn't let it show on his face.

"Well, just between you and me, the guy who's supposed to be upstairs aint at his post," he shrugged, the harsh truth going unnoticed by the other hunter. Warren just shook his head.

"I went straight to the lower pool first, knowing the croc'd most likely be there. The tourists were quick to scramble, but the young fellas in the water took a bit of convincin'," Warren remembered. Dean shook his head this time.

"How did you know?" Dean asked. Warren's blue eyes shot straight to Deans. Dean was unnerved by the way he just stared straight at him unblinking.

"I confirmed my suspicious of who I thought it was, then did a little huntin'. I can't be everywhere at once, so I got Jack to keep an eye out for me. Just lucky he was with some friends earlier that mornin' at the Springs and noticed the guy hangin' around the car-park. He got the message to me as quickly as he could, but I admit I didn't have my mobile on me. When I got his message, I rushed over."

"You know who it is, why don't you just gank 'em?" Dean asked quickly.

"Because they are a bit of a drifter. They don't have an address and because he can turn into other animals, he disappears real quick," Warren trailed off when he noticed the blade in Dean's hand.

"Now that's a knife," he muttered in admiration and took it from Dean when he offered it. "You stabbed it with this and it ran off eh? That's silver for ya."

"Yeah, but I buried it to the hilt in that monster."

"He was a fair size. You probably missed the vital spots for all the meat. I have a feelin' he'll be back in action soon. Did you notice a pattern?" Warren asked.

"About what?"

"The attacks. The Skinwalker's victims."

Dean thought for a second. His mind's eye flashed back to when he looked at the folder in Warren's car. His eyes widened as he made the connection. "It's after kids?"

"Exactly. And guess what's happening down at Litchfield tomorrow?"

"...A free lunch service?"

"Too right. A bus load of munchies. I want that sucker to show up, but I don't want to put the little tackers in trouble. We may need help scoutin' all of the usual swimmin' spots," Warren said, more to himself than to Dean. He pulled out a cell phone from his pocket and let himself into Dean's hideout. Dean didn't mind as it wasn't really his personal property. But Dean couldn't help but wonder why he was helping him. Most hunters kept to themselves. He shrugged and figured he would ask once this hunt was over.

The two hunters packed their vehicles with weapons and other necessities. Dean had no contacts in the local area, so he could only sit and watch as Warren called in a handful of hunters. Most were happy to help him. Dean was really itching to know who exactly Warren was. He gathered he was a truckie from the man back at Noonamah when he first arrived. But he was also in with the police and apparently a good hunter. And why was he so friendly towards the new hunter in town?

"Ok Dean. Go get some rest. I'll come around at four to get you," Warren said with a touch of authority in his voice. Dean didn't mind being ordered around until he got his bearings in the new country. He watched the well-built man drive away in his white Toyota Hilux, stroking the stubble that grew along his jaw. In many ways, Gould reminded him of his father: well-muscled, mysterious and rugged. But he also reminded him of his brother before things got messed up: kind, willing to give a hand and reliable. Dean resolved that Warren's history could remain a mystery until he had located his wayward brother and found Jesse Turner safe and staying away from the dark side.

Dean awoke to the sound of the Ute pulling into the driveway. Now he was getting used to the sounds of the wildlife, he found it easier to recognise artificial noises. He rolled out of bed and stuck his head to the wall and looked out the peep-hole. He saw Warren get out of the car, but he also spotted four more men. Dean grabbed the knife from under his pillow and stuck it in his boot before jogging out to see the group. Even if Warren was a friend, he couldn't trust the other hunters would play "family" and sit by the fire to tell horror stories. When Warren saw Dean, his eyes skipped almost imperceptibly to the bulge at the back of Dean's boot, then back at Dean. But Dean had seen the glance. Warren held up his hand for the other hunters to stop and they did.

"Mornin' 'Chester. These are a few of the blokes who'll be helpin' out," he reassured subtly, and Dean looked at each as he was introduced.

Jack Johnson, whom had finished Dean's bike, was tall and toned, with a narrow, sharp featured face. His smile however softened the military look he sported and he shook Dean's hand confidently. There was Jackson South who was not very big and had thin limbs. He looked very light and flighty, but the grace and precision in which he moved alerted Dean to hidden speed and accuracy with a weapon. His face reminded Dean of a hawk, sharp dark eyes and all. He even had his hair styled in a brown faux-hawk. The man who stood behind him looked very ordinary, with a face that doesn't stay on the mind very long. He had inconspicuous short hair and murky brown eyes that you wouldn't know the colour of unless you looked twice. Which rarely happened. His name was Joe Parr and he wore a dark shirt with faded jeans. Dean couldn't help but think he would be the perfect secret agent. The last man had very dark skin, black eyes and a flat nose. His name was simply Dylan and he had a habit of not looking people in the eye. He shook Dean's hand roughly and seemed to grimace at the touch. All four looked to be in their late 20's, and Dean could see each were carrying some form of concealed weapon, be it Jackson's hand-gun beneath his jacket, or Dylan's combat knife stuck in his boot similar to the way Dean carried his.

The introductions took less than half a minute, but to Dean, it felt like at least five, sizing each one up in his mind and watching them return the favour. When Dean shook Jack's hand, he thanked him for finishing his motorcycle and watching over his car. He just replied, "No sweat. But I'd die for beasts like those!"

"South and Joe come from Coober Pedy and I'm not sure about Dylan. He doesn't say much, but he's a legend around here," Warren commented. Dean gave Dylan a final glance and found Dylan had the smallest hint of a smile on his face. It wasn't there for long. Warren turned and got back in his Ute and waved for Dean to come along. Dean went back into the house and gathered his things. He came back out and noticed Warren had already started driving down the driveway, with all but one of the hunters. South was standing with his hawk eyes, watching Dean carefully. Dean jumped into the Impala and waited for the hunter to climb in. Suddenly, the hunter was inside the car, closing the door quietly. Dean nearly jumped, but all the times Cas had appeared suddenly in the car had given him nerves of steel. Dean turned to South.

"Are you an angel?"

Jackson stared back with his eyebrows raised.

"What's that supposed to be, a pickup line?" he replied with a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little.

Dean looked away awkwardly. He had lost his mojo after being out of the business for ages and now he was getting misunderstood by other hunters for being gay.

"Sorry, that came out wrong."

"Yeah sure. It's ok to come out. But sorry, I'm just not that into you," South said with an impossibly straight face. Dean looked at him and laughed. Dean knew he and this hunter would get along well. Dean pulled out of park and followed Warren's ute out onto the main road.

The drive was long but not too bad, as Dean and South, who preferred to be called Scout by his friends, discussed where they came from and things they had in common. Scout was originally from the UK, but moved to Australia six years ago after he heard about the shortage of hunters. He had been around the locals for long enough that it was second nature to copy their accent. He was very open about his history, talking about how he and Joe had met on a hunt and decided to work together. He also talked about his many one-night-stands thanks to his exotic good looks, charming British accent and the graceful and confident way he moved. Dean felt charitable enough to share that he was born in the States, shared some of the lesser hunts he and his brother had been on and compared his one-night-stands with Scout's. Dean liked Scout. He had a good sense of humour, had hunted creatures ranging from grumpy ghosts to rampaging werewolves, and understood that Dean had things he didn't want to share. By the time Dean pulled up next to Warren at a big sign stating they were "welcome to Litchfield National Park", Scout and Dean were already arguing whether or not AC/DC was better than Pink Floyd. Both had completely forgotten about why they were going to Litchfield until they saw Warren unloading a shotgun from under the rear seat of his ute.


	8. Cliff Jumping

Dean and Scout got out of the Impala and joined the three other hunters behind the tray of Warren's ute.

"You got that Jack?" Warren asked, to which Jack nodded. "Yep."

"Good. Dean, you and Scout should go to Wangi. It's pretty big so it'll need ya both," he directed, to which Scout nodded. "Right. Sun'll be up soon, so get ready."

With that, the three hunters climbed into the Hilux and drove off. Dean turned to Scout.

"I hope you know where "One-Guy" is."

Scout nodded and smiled.

"Mate, you need to do some research." With that, Scout walked swiftly to the passenger side of the Impala. Dean noticed the hunter knew which side was passenger and which was driver in the American car. He shrugged and decided not to mention his mistake at the airport.

As the pair were driving to Wangi Falls, Scout looked at Dean from the side, just like a bird.

"You're after yer brother ay?"

Dean flinched and glanced at Scout before focusing back on the road. "No. Why do you say that?"

"The way you spoke of him before. And suddenly coming to Australia. I reckon he's gone and done somethin' that's made ya mighty pissed." To this, Dean just shrugged.

"He's dead to me," he replied simply. Scout didn't quite understand, as he felt like he was missing something, so he said no more. Dean realised hardly anybody knew about how the two of them were destined to be Lucifer versus Michael, and how Sam had died and Dean had quit. All people seemed to know was the pair were laying so low no-one had heard from them since the Apocalypse had seemingly faded away. The last few minutes on the road were silent, until the Impala pulled into the Wangi Falls car-park. It was still way too early, and campers were still snoozing away. Dean killed the engine and scratched his chin. He needed to shave. Scout shifted in his seat and looked out across the tents and cars scattered across the camping ground.

"So how are we gunna do this?" Scout asked to break the silence.

"I'm not sure. I guess swimming won't work. What about jumping out onto the monster?"

Scout thought about this and shook his head. "This is crazy. Wangi is pretty wide. If it swims in, it's either gunna be spotted upstream or once it enters the pool. It won't have much time to cross over to where people normally swim before it's spotted either way. Unless the man transforms first, we should be able to see it. And I doubt the Skinwalker would run the risk of being recognised."

The two hunters talked about strategies until the car park started filling with cars and the campers were up making breakfast. Parks and Wildlife Rangers walked down the path and opened the gates at the pool. Both Dean and Scout were prepared to catch the monster once it entered Wangi Falls plunge pool. They started off when other tourists headed down, and they carried an Esky between them. But it wasn't full of ice, despite there being two cans of XXXX Gold nestled amongst the wide range of ammunition, knives, guns and other miscellaneous objects.

Down at the pool, Scout happily stripped off to his boardies and jumped in. He figured the Skinwalker wouldn't attack until the school kids arrived on their bus at about 10:30, so he set about enjoying himself. Dean did admit the water looked nice and clear, despite the huge "Beware of Saltwater Crocodiles" sign at the steps leading into the pool. But he remained out of the pool and figured out where a good vantage spot would be. The huge plunge pool was surrounded by high cliffs, and a few looked like it would be possible to climb. Scout would get up onto a good ledge with a gun or two and a few blades and whatnot. Dean would have to hang around with the swimmers and let them know, after a signal from Scout, that the crocodile was in the area. Good plan. Only problem was, Scout would be unable to get a good shot at the croc if it was hanging around the bed of the pool, and would have to dive on the ten-meter steam train with a few pig-stickers. Dean knew if Scout timed everything wrong, one bite would end him, especially if the Skinwalker was impartial to enjoying adult meals and only savoured children. Dean also knew that even if Scout managed to maim the reptilian freak, the younger hunter may need rescuing. He did not like this job at all. If only there were more hunters, he thought, and if only I had Sam. Dean shooed that thought away. He did not want to be attached to the Sam meat-suit if Lucifer was in charge. He simply ran through scenarios in his head over and over until he had worked out exactly what to do when the monster came at him from any angle.

When the bus-load of kids arrived, Dean was shaking with nerves. Even the most hardened hunter felt fear when faced with such a leviathan's attack. And there was a lot of water between where Scout was perched and where Dean was sitting. The kids all came down in groups of three or four. Dean could tell they were all about eleven or twelve. He wanted them all to run away now, not to be served up as bait. But Dean and Scout's plan prevented the Skinwalker from getting near the children, so he tried to reason with himself that nothing would happen. Dean then realised that if he came from the direction of the Skinwalker's entry, he could convince them easily that he had seen it, and not just try and convince them from the bank. He was fearful, but he had already stepped into the water. If he backed out now, it would look like he'd chickened out of the cold water. Little did Dean know, but Scout had spotted him slipping cautiously into the water and was grinning. Scout knew Dean would be unable to resist lowering the chances of his own survival for the chance of raising the other swimmer's survival. The younger hunter perched precariously on a ledge watched as Dean started to reach out in his strokes more confidently as he got used to the water temperature. Scout thought to himself: _That guy. He tries to be all big and tough, but he's just a big softie_.

Dean found himself a ledge close enough to the swimmers, but far enough away from where Scout would try and gank the crocodile. The huge pool was filled with about thirty-odd 12-year-olds, two teachers and about seven or eight tourists. Luckily, the children were staying not too far from the bank. He watched one adventurous boy swim out towards one of the waterfalls, but was dragged back to other children before he even got halfway. He chuckled a little and nearly fell back into the water for his trouble. He regained his balance after a few seconds of scrambling to get a handhold on the ledge, then looked around to see Scout waving his hands manically. Dean initially thought he was just trying to get his attention to laugh at him, but then he noticed the hunter pointing rigorously down at the water. Dean gestured to make sure he read the message clear, to which Scout returned with a _'get everyone out!'_ gesture. Dean thought he would have to act frightened, but his heart was racing so hard that he didn't have to fake clumsy swimming.

"Get out!" he cried out between gasps of ferocious swimming, and as he got closer he added, "Crocodile!"

Those who had heard him, primarily the seven or eight tourists, one teacher and two kids, all turned instasntly and raced for the bank. The rest were still screaming with joy and chasing each other around. But these happy few noticed something was wrong when they saw the others racing out and started screaming "Croc!"

"Hurry, get out! There's a Saltwater crocodile coming! Get the kids out!" he continued to shout even though he doubted anyone could now hear him over the yelling and shrieking. Suddenly, several gunshots echoed around the cliff faces, followed by and almighty war cry cut short by a splash. Dean checked everyone was out and turned around. Some people looked at him strangely, but the rest all cheered as they realised he was going back to help the cliff jumper. Perhaps it was a standing ovation for his suicidal attempt at rescue. Rangers were dialling the police and calling in reinforcements, such as a boat.

When Dean was close enough, he saw the water ran red with blood and the surface was foaming from the writhing crocodile. Dean barely had time to notice the crocodile was smaller than when it was at Berry Springs, but reasoned perhaps the Skinwalker had been wounded too much to transform any bigger. He dived under and caught sight of Scout drifting to the bed with blood pumping from his left leg. He saw the leg was still there if at an awkward angle, and Scout was only drifting because the shock of his leg had him paralysed. Dean took stock of what state the crocodile was in, in under a second. He was very good at gathering the information of a scenario quickly thanks to experience. He saw there was quite a lot of blood coming from the crocodile's back and one leg had been blown half off by a shotgun blast. He also saw one of its eyes had been jabbed out, which Dean reasoned Scout had done while the creature was chewing on his leg. It was writhing in pain and its great jaws were snapping at clear water. Dean knew in that split second he would have to kill it before it killed the hunters in its frenzy. And Dean saw it was speeding straight at him in blind rage. Dean scooted to the reptile's blind side at the last moment and grabbed hold of it as it went past. The crocodile instantly began rolling and bucking to remove the unwanted human, but Dean barely managed to hold on. It was weaker than it was before, especially as it was no-where near the size. But it was much more agile despite being unable to see in one eye and missing a leg. Then Dean realised it was propelled by its tail, and its legs had nothing to do with swimming. Dean timed the moment perfectly when he let go with one hand and drew his silver knife from his boot. He stabbed the knife into the base of the reptile's skull and it reflexively bucked. Dean had only been holding on for three seconds but that last movement had exhausted his grip. Dean pulled the knife from the croc's neck as he was flung away, but the resistance of the water stopped him from going too far. He was now above the monstrous animal and its death throes were just as dangerous as its cognitive attacks. Dean plunged the blade down and the reptile's head reared up. The silver metal slid straight through the top of the skull and into the brain.

Dean had brought Scout to the surface, where the younger hunter began spluttering and gasping for breath. Blood had turned the water crimson and Dean almost imagined he was in a pond of wine. But the carcass of the crocodile bobbing not too far away shattered the illusion. Dean wanted to remove the carcass just in case it decided to turn back to its human form before the eyes of unfortunate Rangers. He dragged it by its tail as he swum, but he decided not to show up with the body in front of the children. He and Scout climbed out at the nearest bank, ignoring the Pandanus fronds raking their skin and planting thousands of splinters. The Skinwalker hadn't shifted back yet, so they had to drag the heavier crocodile body through the bush to the car-park. Dean ran and moved the Impala closer so he didn't started anyone who happened to be passing by. Scout was heavily limping and blood was flowing freely, but Dean gave him credit for not complaining. The bleeding carcass was wrapped in layers of black plastic bags before being thrown into the backseat. Then the two slowly made their way down to the water by the bush path. They couldn't just leave and be presumed dead, so they swam out to the blood pool, then began swimming back, Dean making a show of dragging Scout. When they made it back to the bank slowly, all the swimmers and Rangers who had seen Dean swim away were cheering. Along with a few police and Rangers. Dean fabricated a story that Scout spotted the crocodile at the same time Dean had, and had slipped on top of it. The animal had swing around and bit him, but Scout managed to grab a passing branch and poke one of its eyes out. Dean had come along and it decided to swim away. Scout was drowning, but Dean pulled him from the bottom of the pool and managed to get him breathing again. Then they swam back. Foolproof, and after everyone had calmed down and gone home, the Rangers were surprised to find where the croc had climbed out of the pool and crawled _up_ to the car-park. And that was where the blood-trail ended. They conveniently left this out of the report as it made no sense. And the gunshots were attributed to rogue poachers on the cliff tops. All's well that ends well, right?

Dean and Scout returned to Dean's hideout and properly dressed the wound and reset the dislocated knee Scout had obtained. They lay the carcass out in the carport on a fresh line of plastic bags and watched and waited for the Skinwalker to return to his original form. Dean was also glad no blood had gotten onto the Impala. By about 4 in the afternoon, the white ute pulled into the driveway. Dean and Scout sat proudly near their kill on folding chairs. Warren and the other hunters looked very surprised.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to return. Empty handed I see. What do you think of our catch?" Dean gloated. Scout nodded and added, "Looks like we got 'im before you did. We win."

Warren chuckled. Joe and Dylan shared a knowing look and both grinned. Dylan looked a bit scary when he grinned though. Dean was happy he had completed his first hunt in the new country.

Warren stepped closer and examined the six meter Salty. He looked at Dean with a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh? It seems you might have got 'im. The only problem is that we seem to have caught the same thing." Right on cue, Joe dragged something from the tray of the ute and dropped it on the floor. Both Dean and Scout got up out of their chairs. They looked from the corpse of a dark-skinned man wearing a variety of animal pelts with various wounds to the Saltwater crocodile. Dean and Scout paled, much to the pleasure of the other hunters. They looked at each other, both understanding what the other was thinking. _Oh my god, we just killed a freaking six meter Saltwater Crocodile._

"At least ya saved all those innocent people from a croc attack," Joe chipped in, giving the dazed Dean a slap on the back.


	9. Pride and Doubt

Dean proudly defended the success of his hunt amidst joking. He and Scout were a bit shocked to find out they had trumped a real crocodile. Not that the larger Skinwalker wasn't a dangerous creature, but a human mind in an animal body is a lot more predictable than an animal mind in its natural skin. Humans take time to calculate decisions and have certain emotions that may cloud their judgement. Animals however rely on instinct and quick reactions and don't stop to think about what they were going to kill.

After resting his case, Dean leaned in to examine the Skinwalker. Scout stood next to him and eyed the dead man with his sharp eyes.

"How did you get 'im?" Scout asked and looked up at Warren.

"We each went to the separate swimmin' spots. I was up at Buley Rockhole. At about two, I noticed blood trickling down the pools. I followed the trail up the pools and found him hidin' under a log. He was in his croc form, and he didn't notice me. He was obviously having trouble movin' because there was the nasty wound from ya silver knife turnin' septic. Lucky there were only a few locals down in a lower pool and hadn't noticed. I got 'im with my knife and he transformed back. He was much lighter that way, I'm sure," Warren added with a mischievous glance at the crocodile carcass. Dean ignored that and examined the gross-looking wound in his side. It had horrible grey veins sprawled just below the skin and the skin around the wound had turned a sickly green. It looked painful. Scout poked him in the ribs.

"Oi. What exactly is a Skinwalker?" he asked. Dean looked at him funny.

"You jumped on it and you didn't even know what it was?"

"Nah. Figured he was just some sort of were-croc or somethin'."

"Were-croc? Are you nuts? That would be crazy," Dean said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Shapeshifter of sorts then!"

"Yeah, of sorts. He's basically a witch who has the ability to change into an animal if he is wearing its skin."

"I see."

Dean decided he'd had enough of the corpses sitting in his car port.

"Ok, enough feeding the flies. Let's get rid of them just in case they are in fact were-croc zombies."

Warren's group lifted the crocodile body onto the tray, while Dean and Scout hacked a path through the vegetation to create a burial place. They dug the grave, salted and burned the corpse. By the time they were done, the sun was well and truly down. Dylan had already taken off somewhere, and Warren and Jack had left for their place. Joe was lounging around on one of Dean's hamper chairs and drinking a beer. Dean and Scout returned to find a blue Ford Falcon sitting on the driveway, its engine ticking as it cooled off. Scout nodded to Joe, who smiled and shrugged. Scout turned to Dean and held out his hand.

"We have to go now. We were up here to get some supplies from Warren, and he asked up to help out with this hunt. We came, not knowing how many hunters would actually show up. Been good working with ya," he said while shaking Dean's hand, his head tilted like a bird. Dean was surprised, but then he remembered Scout and Joe weren't locals.

"Coober Pedy, right? No were-crocs there I hope?"

"Never gonna let me forget are ya?"

"Nope. Can I get your details in case I need..." Dean was about to say 'help' but thought better of it and ended with, "to use a suicidal cliff-jumper?"

"Sure Dean. In case you need my 'help', I'll give ya my number," Scout chuckled. _Damn_, Dean thought, _he's good_. They shared numbers and other small details. But when Scout turned to get in his car and leave, Dean had an idea.

"Wait! I need to find out where my brother is. Do you think you could help me out? I'm not used to the people in this place yet."

Scout looked at Dean with unreadable eyes. He looked to Joe, who understood what Scout wanted and just shrugged. He turned back with a lopsided grin.

"Yeah ok. Motorcycle or Car?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you want to drive the motorcycle or car? 'Cause I can drive slash ride one for you if you want."

"Oh. Ah... My baby needs me, so you can bring the Fatboy," Dean ordered, which Scout understood allowed Dean to let Scout take one of his rides and not harm his pride. Scout went to the trunk of the car and rummaged through it while Dean raced inside to pack his things. Lucky he was pretty much ready to go anyway.

After Dean loaded everything he needed into the Impala, he locked up the hideout. He realised he would be coming back often to restock and rest. He watched Scout, who was kitted up for motorcycle riding, sling a black canvas bag over his shoulders. He had half-shin length black, buckle-covered boots, blue jeans, a leather vest over a long-sleeved black shirt, black fingerless gloves and Ray Ban shades. His helmet was black with an ornate, tribal-looking bird of prey printed on with wings spread and talons bared. It was silver with icy blue eyes and the talons had serrated edges. Dean thought it looked kind of cool, but he would never wear the helmet because it had a ridiculous-looking brim where the non-existent visor should've slid down from. It was made to look a little like a beak. Then he realised he would have to wear it if he wanted to ride, as he didn't have a helmet. Dean didn't say anything and jumped into the Impala, noting he would have to pick one up along the way. Joe started the blue car and backed out of the driveway. Scout followed on Dean's thundering motorcycle, and then Dean in the Impala. The driveway looked eerie in the headlights thanks to the dense and unfamiliar trees stretching disjointed fingers across where the sky should've been. Dean watched the two hunters ahead of him and decided they were being too friendly. Pretty much all the hunters he had even known had kept to themselves. Dean just couldn't get used to the idea of chummy hunters working together in non-Apocalyptic times. His paranoia just kept niggling at his brain, telling him to ditch them and go by himself, telling him it was too dangerous to trust anyone other than himself until he found his brother. This thought startled Dean as he realised he couldn't trust Sam either. He was alone; just a big ball of trust issues and doubt.

Although the three hunter stopped every hour and a half or so for fuel and to stretch legs, about twelve hours after leaving Darwin, the group arrived in Alice Springs. Scout signalled which service station they would pull into and quickly slipped in next to a fuel bowser before Dean or Joe could get in. When the refuelling was done, the trio decided to have a late breakfast, or an early lunch depending on how you look at it. They found a restaurant that served breakfast "until lunch!", as the sign stated. They entered through the sliding door to the sound of a bell and looked around the small room. The walls were a simple cream with a few posters of old cars. The booths were made up of tables with places for four. The seats were red plush with polished wooden frames. The floor was tiled and there were several slowly rotating fans on the ceiling. Dean strode up to the counter where an old dear wearing an apron met him with a cheery smile. With his prince-worthy smile, he ordered a bacon, sausage and egg burger. He was also dying for a coffee. The woman happily took his order and bustled into the kitchen to give the order to the cook. Scout ordered a simple beef burger, and Joe ordered the same. The hunters chose a booth not too far from the counter but far enough away that the sizzling of the kitchen wouldn't annoy them. Dean rubbed his hands in anticipation, with a grin on his face. He then stopped as he saw Joe smiling and Scout staring blankly.

"What? I haven't eaten for like a whole day!"

"Uh huh," Scout raised an eyebrow, and was about to continue whne he caught sight of the newspaper pile just to the left of the door. He stood and walked over. Dean thought his walk was too graceful for a man. Then his paranoia kicked in and he began thinking things like 'vampire' or some other monster. He shook his head, knowing he was being stupid. He turned his attention to Joe and tried to distract himself.

"So Joe. You don't talk very much."

Joe blinked. Dean waited for a reply, but didn't get one.

"Why is that?"

"I just don't feel I have to. I mean, I used to, but I used to get ignored a lot."

Dean figured it was probably the droning way the guy talked.

"So what's the story, Terminator?"

"Of what?"

"You," Dean replied with a hint of exasperation.

"Oh. Grew up in Coober Pedy. Found out about the Truth from Scout. We were friends but he acted all suspicious around the time of a murder. 2003, I think. Some guy named Wilbur. Anyway, I thought Scout was the murderer the way he acted around others when the subject was brought up. I confronted him, and I told him no lies. So, he told me he was not the murderer, and he said he would take me to the real killer the next night. So, we went to a run-down old house and Scout kicked down the door. He then held a knife to the person inside. Turned out to be a vampire. The extra teeth, strength and his confession of killing Wilbur was proof enough for me. Especially when he slipped free, and Scout stabbed him in the stomach and he didn't complain a whole lot, you know? Scout somehow managed to get his head off in the end. He asked I keep it a secret, and in exchange I told him to keep no secrets from me."

Dean nodded, his mouth watering from the smell of his food cooking.

"So he took off old Draccy's head and all of a sudden, you are a new man?"

"You could say that. Scout thinks I'm really good at getting information. We travelled around the country until recently when we wanted to meet up with some old friends."

"Ooh vacation. Just got off mine actually. Yeah, two years in fact."

Scout nodded, but his eyes flicked to Scout as he returned to the table.

"Mates, does this look interesting to you?" he asked, holding up a newspaper for the two other hunters to see. The headline was "DINGO ATTACKS AT THE RED CENTRE", the sub heading was "Three dead in one week". The image was of the monolithic rock Uluru in the background, with police vehicles in the foreground. Dean started to lean closer to read the article, but changed his mind and snatched the paper from Scout's hand. He slapped it onto the table and began to read.

_A third body was discovered last night 500m from Uluru by campers who were out taking a walk. This victim, 42 year old Henry Anderson, was found laying face-down behind a bush at approximately 10:45, still bleeding from his wounds. His body was in a terrible state, namely covered in what appears to be the result of a pack mauling by dingoes. The man was last seen at about 9:23 leaving a restaurant and walking to his car. It is thought that he was attacked there and dragged away into the scrub. The other two victims, 23 year old Freda Garson and 26 year old Darrel Miller, were also found dead earlier this week covered in similar wounds. The actual cause of death for all three victims has been blamed upon broken necks, and not bleeding, which was initially thought. Police officer Sgt Harold Gregory said yesterday..._

Dean didn't finish what he was reading because Joe was pointing to the article, covering it.

"Something's wrong. Dingoes don't attack people, let alone drag them off into the outback and kill them!" he exclaimed, to which Scout shrugged.

"Tell that to Lindy Chamberlain," he replied simply.


	10. Superman and The Red Rock

Dean watched as Joe and Scout argued over the legitimacy of the dingo story. Scout firmly believed that the Chamberlain baby was taken by a dingo, while Joe refused to believe that an animal as timid as that would harm anyone unless provoked. Scout argued with a firm, high voice, his eyes focused upon Joe's and his body rigid. Joe argued with his almost tediously ordinary voice, like David Attenborough or some news anchor, his body relaxed and his eyes flicking from Scout's to the article. Dean couldn't help but think this entire case was crazy, or as he put it quietly, "Dingo ate my baby crazy".

Dean listened for a few minutes but when the food was brought out, he couldn't hear anything over the sound of his own ferocious munching. Joe and Scout settled that the baby could've been taken, if the dingo had been starving for a while and mistook it for a bilby or rabbit. But they both agreed that the recent killings were quite strange and unlikely. They finished their meals while Dean watched on, his stomach satisfied. For now. Joe belched quietly while Scout turned his attention to Dean.

"So, do you mind if we...?" he asked and Dean shrugged.

"It's what we do. Personal matters aside, our job is to save people's lives. How far?"

"Not very. But it'll be pretty late when we get there."

"What are waiting for, Superman to save the day?"

As Joe had predicted, it was late by the time they arrived at Uluru. Once they paid to get in, which everyone thought was funny, or as Scout put it, "We have to pay to see a _rock_?", the group went to find accommodation. Dean locked the Metallicar and checked up on his motorcycle. Scout strode around the front of his car and talked to Joe. Dean stood and looked at the huge rock that was dwarfing them. It was definitely big, and seemed out of place in the middle of the flat landscape. It stretched out on the red sands, its bright reddish-orange surface dulled by the moon's shine. Dean noticed a trail of posts lined up along the rock, and a sign was posted at the base, but he couldn't read it in the gloom. He checked that he had everything, and asked the local hunters where to begin. Then the three hunters spotted the police and rangers milling about not too far away.

As they walked up to the crime scene, Dean noticed how the grass clumps were squashed flat, as if someone had been dragged over the ground. And there was plenty of blood to prove it. He brushed a hand over his chin and thought for a second. He turned to Joe and Scout.

"Are there any other big beasties living in places like this?" he asked, waving an arm around at the arid desert land stretching out from horizon to horizon. Scout looked at him side-on in his bird-like way. Dean was beginning to think it meant he was curious. Or suspicious.

"Not really. There may be rogue buffalo, cattle or even camels, but that's about it," Scout replied, but then looked around the ground and added, "And I don't see any hoof prints."

"And you said that dingos don't do this kind of thing?" Dean pressed.

Joe nodded. "Nah, and I can't image they'd gang up on a fit human."

Dean nodded and indicated for Scout and Joe to stay where they were. They exchanged an amused glance and watched the foreign hunter swagger up to the crime scene. He walked over to a uniform-clad policeman, who was standing staring up at the stars, his hands rested on the radio and baton strapped to his belt.

"Excuse me officer. Sergeant Dean Young, from Darwin," Dean said, holding up his ID. The officer glanced at him but didn't bother checking the ID.

"Yeah? What does Darwin want with us down here?" he replied with a baritone voice, looking down at the bloodied ground. He was a tall man with broad shoulders. He had a substantial beer gut, but his arms were still thick with muscle, although not exactly body building material. He also had a wiry black moustache clinging under his flat nose, and tiny, bored eyes.

"Well one of the men was from Darwin," Dean recalled, "Henry Anderson. I've been sent down to investigate the matter."

"Huh. I thought we'd already talked to you mob. But hey, I guess they're giving the rookies a chance."

Dean knew this was a stab at him, as the officer obviously saw him as an American who's just moved over and was trying to earn points with the up-highs.

"Well, just in case you haven't read the newspaper," the officer began, trying to stifle a yawn, "This bloke was found dead here, not far from the Rock. We suspect dingoes, judging by the claw and tooth marks, as well as the fur, tooth and claw chips found in his body. But that doesn't explain why his neck's broken. We're a bit far from the Rock for him to've jumped, but the fractures and internal damage suggests he fell from the same height as the Rock. We know he's been dragged from somewhere because of the blood trail and scraped dirt and grass, as well as the dirt in his body. Because his body's half-chewed, we can't tell which angle he fell from, how far he rolled or anything. But hey, it should say all that in your paperwork right?"

Dean nodded. "Just confirming. And no witnesses to ask either. Can I talk to the people who found him?" he asked. The officer just waved a hand and handed him a card from his pocket. On the card were a few hand-scribbled details of where the campers were. Dean took a moment to look at the site and promised to come back in daylight.

Dean returned to where Joe and Scout were leaning against their car. Joe was slouched and snickering quietly while Scout looked on with the seriousness of a funeral.

"Mate, wouldn't it have been easier to let us locals handle it?" Scout asked before Dean could say anything. Then, like a well rehearsed act, they both pulled out of pockets various ID's and cards. They showed their police ID's to Dean particularly and replaced them in their pockets.

"Come on, I can do it too," Dean defended, and held up the card. "Look," he said while looking down his nose, "I even got the camper's details."

Scout raised his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth turned down in mock surprise.

"Newbie's got some skills," Joe said quietly, and it was Scout's turn to snigger.

"Hey! I've been hunting since I was a kid. I know what I'm doing!" Dean grumbled, although he knew they were talking about him hunting in the new country. How different could it be?

Hey! to those who read this Fanfic. Sorry, I havn't been wrting for a number of reasons, including study. Its not that I've run out of ideas, I just don't have much time nowadays. I will try to knuckle down soon! Sorry this chapter is so short!

~Rara


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